Cook's Tour
by Purupuss
Summary: What happens when your past comes back to haunt you?
1. Prologue: Terror on Tracy Island

_What happens when your past comes back to haunt you?_

In my last multi-chapter story 'Celebration Challenge', I hinted and teased with references to the original TV series episodes. This time I am deliberately including, and following on a few weeks after, the events in "Terror in New York City", which was written by Alan Fennell. The prologue was written for those who haven't had the opportunity to see that episode. The rest of the story is mine, but I do not own any members of International Rescue, or any bit of equipment belonging to International Rescue. Nor can I claim Ned Cook, Joe, National Television Broadcasting System, the USN Sentinel (or any of the idiots on board). They all belong to Granada.

As always I would like to thank Quiller for her proof reading, help and pestering to get this finished. I would also like to thank Mike from NIWA – Taihoro Nukuangi (the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research in New Zealand), for providing me with some much needed facts. Proof that you should never be afraid to ask the professionals for advice.

A note: This story is not based on any particular event, but has been roaming around in my mind for months. As Quiller said to me, it's a case of fact following fan fiction.

2nd note: Cook's Tour: the name of Thomas Cook (1808-92), travel agent. A tour, esp. one in which many places are viewed; any journey of wide extent. 

No Tracys were harmed in the writing of this story (seriously). Alan Fennell had already done that for me.

Enjoy :-)

Purupuss

* * *

**Prologue: Terror on Tracy Island**

There was a knock on the door. She jumped, startled out of her reverie, and stared at the figure in the doorway with an expression that was one-half defiance, one-half fear.

"They will be home soon, Mrs Tracy."

"Thank you, Kyrano." Grandma returned her attention to the montage of photographs in her hand. "He will be all right, won't he?" The question was directed to whatever power controlled man's destinies, rather than Kyrano, and her fingers lightly touched the middle photo as she spoke. "Does Brains say what his chances are?" She looked back at the Malaysian manservant.

"No," Kyrano shook his head. "But every inch they draw closer will mean his chance of success will improve."

Grandma nodded. Then she curled her hands into fists of frustration. "Why did the navy shoot at him? Didn't they realise that they were firing on a Thunderbird?"

"Mister John said that they may have mistaken him for a missile."

"A missile? That's ridiculous! That boy wouldn't hurt a fly. Didn't they even think to check who it was?"

"I do not know, Mrs Tracy."

"I'd like to give the Captain of the 'Sentinel' a piece of my mind!" Grandma replaced the photo on her dressing table before she stood and smoothed down her apron. "Guess I'm not doing any good sitting 'round here."

Together they left her bedroom, silently traversing the house until they reached the lounge.

Grandma looked at the desk. "Where's Jeff?"

"He has gone to Landing Control with my Tin-Tin. Mister Alan and Mister Gordon are already there. All is prepared."

A solitary figure was standing on the patio looking down over the runway. "Any news, Brains?" Grandma asked as she came to stand beside International Rescue's engineer.

"N-No, Mrs T-Tracy. B-But he is st-still airborne."

Grandma gripped the patio rail tightly and looked out over the Pacific's waters. "Which way will they be coming from?"

Brains pointed out into the nothingness of their immediate environs. "Th-That way."

The three of them stood in silence, straining their eyes for that first glimpse.

Grandma rubbed her eyes and looked away, down to a strip of grey that seemed to disappear into the landscape. Suddenly the island's runway seemed too short for a conventional landing, let alone an emergency one. Butterflies launched into action in her stomach and she couldn't keep a panicked edge out of her voice. "What if he doesn't stop?" she asked the little scientist at her shoulder. "What if he crashes into the cliff? I've always thought that was a silly place to build Landing Control…"

"Be calm, Mrs Tracy" Kyrano instructed in his soothing voice. "All will be well."

"But what if he crashes into it? Jeff, Tin-Tin and the boys are in there!"

"Th-That's why I'm up h-here," Brains said sombrely. Stress was exacerbating his stutter. "R-Really, t-t-to be t-totally s-safe, w-w-we sh-should be d-down in the b-b-bunkers, in case there's a n-n-n-nuclear exp-plosion."

No one retreated from their vantage-point looking down towards the runway.

Brains looked at his watch. "I'll r-radio J-John to s-see if he h-h-has any news."

John skipped the traditional greetings. "Nothing new to report, Brains. I'm keeping the airwaves clear so they can concentrate on what they are doing."

"You are s-still r-receiving i-information?"

"Only audio. As he said earlier, he's lost all instrumentation. I can't tell you his altitude, bearing, whether the reactor's still intact…"

Grandma felt the butterflies in her stomach leap into life again.

"C-Can you t-t-transmit their c-c-communications through t-to us, p-please?"

"Sure, Brains… Here we go…"

They could hear Scott's voice. Trying to maintain his professional, calm, composed manner despite his obvious concerns, he was issuing instructions and trying to coax the stricken craft and her pilot home.

Now Virgil was talking and once again Mrs Tracy's butterflies took flight. Her middle grandson's normally soft voice was sounding weak and under strain. Every now and then he'd break his staccato flow of speech with a fit of coughing that clearly racked his body.

Grandma turned away from the blue of the endless sky and Pacific Ocean that told her nothing, and looked back into the lounge. Scott's portrait had come to life, but her grandson's attention was not on the occupants of the Tracy Villa. It was torn between Thunderbird One's controls and instruments, and his brother's plane. Virgil's portrait remained motionless. As John had said, the only information Thunderbird Five was receiving from Thunderbird Two was Virgil's side of the radio conversation.

Grandma turned back to the ocean.

"Can I see something?" Kyrano asked. He pointed. "There?"

Brains squinted into the distance. "Y-Yes. I can s-see something too!"

As if to confirm that the vision was not an illusion they heard Scott's voice. "We're nearly home, Virgil. I can see Tracy Island!"

"I can't… see anything…" Virgil coughed, "for smoke."

"Trust me, Virg. We're nearly there. Hang in there. Not far now."

Thunderbird Two was steadily growing bigger on the horizon, a tail of thick, black smoke dragging behind her. Now they could see, escorting the stricken craft, the smaller dot that was Thunderbird One.

"Why did they not have Mister Gordon stand by in Thunderbird Four?" Kyrano asked. "In case Mister Virgil lands in the water."

"I guess they…" John began. He stopped. Virgil was systematically preparing his craft for landing, dictating each procedure as if he were afraid that he was going to make a mistake and needed Scott's reassurance that he was doing everything correctly.

"Can you see the island now, Virg?" Scott asked.

"Yes…"

"You're doing fine. I know you'll make it, Virgil."

Virgil coughed again

"Reduce speed," Scott instructed.

"Reducing... Is it enough?"

"A bit more…"

Mrs Tracy grabbed the handrail and clung to it tightly.

"Remember, all you have to do is land on the runway. Don't worry about turning her round. Keep her straight… Lose height…"

Grandma glanced at Kyrano. He had closed his eyes and appeared to be praying.

"You're nearly there, Virgil…"

Grandma couldn't watch the point of impact. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to shut out the series of explosive thuds that appeared to rock the house as Thunderbird Two punched into the earth again and again. The concussive noises stopped, only to be replaced by the screech of metal against concrete as the great plane scudded along the runway. It was almost as if Thunderbird Two herself were screaming with pain at the injuries she'd received and the torture she was enduring.

Somewhere in the melee, those on the patio could hear Virgil frantically yelling something about the wheels collapsing and then the radio link went dead…

Only when Thunderbird Two's last agonising scream had dissipated did Grandma open her eyes again.

Smoke was rising from beyond the headland that masked the runway.

There was a cheer from the radio. "You've made it, Virgil! You've landed… Virgil…?"

There was no reply.

An icy chill seemed to grip Grandma's heart.

"Virgil? It's Scott. Answer me… please…" When she heard her grandson's desperate pleas go unanswered, Grandma's already frozen heart felt as if it dropped to the pit of her stomach.

"I'd b-better get d-down th-there." Brains pushed himself away from the handrail. Before he turned to go he patted the elderly lady on her shoulder. "D-D-Don't worry. I'm sure it's only a r-radio malf-function." Before she could reply, he hurried away.

"I'm coming, Virgil. We'll get you out. Hang in there…" already Thunderbird One was touching down. The roar from her engines had barely died away before Scott was out of his craft and running for her sister ship. The foam had made the runway slippery and he fell twice before reaching his objective.

Grandma became aware that she had a death grip on something. "Oh! I'm sorry, Kyrano." She released his hand.

"It is all right, Mrs Tracy" he replied in his precise pedantic manner. "There is no need to apologise."

They returned to the lounge. Gordon's portrait had disappeared. In its place, shot from above Landing Control, a video image of Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One, and the airstrip was visible. The transporter was lying deathly still; a pale ghost of herself, whitened by the flame-retardant foam that had been sprayed by the extinguishers that had risen from the edges of the runway.

Mrs Tracy leant on the baby grand piano to steady herself.

"I can't get in!" Frustration could clearly be heard in Scott's voice. "The hatch has jammed!"

"Don't worry, Scott. We'll use the cabin's emergency hatch." Grandma marvelled at how calm and in control her son was sounding. She had no doubts that he was just as worried as she was.

"Wait for me," Scott instructed. "I want to help."

"No, Son. Brains is already here. We can't waste any more time. Move clear and meet us up at the house. Go and look after your grandmother."

Normally such a comment would have had Mrs Tracy seething in indignation, but this time she watched in concern as her eldest grandson moved a safe distance away from the wreck to observe the rescue that he desperately wanted to be part of. Then he turned and ran towards the house.

Now a new object appeared in the vista displayed in Gordon's frame. Landing Control had slipped from its socket in the cliff face and was trundling forward towards Thunderbird Two; stopping just above the great 'plane's damaged nose. Then, something similar to a lift shaft, descended until it was level the with flight deck windows.

"The cabin's full of smoke," Alan said.

If Grandma's heart had been dropped into liquid Nitrogen, it couldn't have felt colder. Somewhere, on the edge of consciousness, she heard voices. Men talking.

"I'm going to have to break through somehow without letting in more oxygen and fanning the fire," Alan was saying.

"John, give me a visual on Landing Control's vid…"

"Sure, Scott. But you can't see anything yet…"

"Nothing?"

"No…"

"Mister Scott? Your grandmother…"

She was only able to drag her concentration away from what was going on down on the runway when she felt an arm slip around her shoulders. "Grandma? Are you okay?"

She gave a minute nod. "How's Virgil?"

Scott looked back towards Thunderbird Two's video image. "I don't know… Come and sit down. We'll be able to hear over the radio as soon as they find him."

Grandma allowed her oldest grandchild to lead her away from the piano and over to one of the more comfortable chairs. He sat beside her and took her hand.

In front of them, projected onto what had formerly been another painting, was the view from a camera lowered below Landing Control. It was panning over the windows of Thunderbird Two's flight deck. The interior of the pilot's cabin was hidden behind a screen of thick back smoke.

"I've broken through," Alan exclaimed.

"Where's the seat of the fire?" Jeff asked.

"I don't know. I can't see for smoke."

"Any sign of…"

"Negative."

Scott leant forward, forgetting his grandmother. His elbows were digging into his knees, chin resting on his hands, and his heels tapped an impatient tattoo on the floor. "If it hadn't been for those idiots…" he muttered.

The camera continued to track along those impenetrable windows…

Scott was still muttering under his breath. "If I ever meet Cook again, I swear I'll…"

"Hold it! Back the camera up, I saw something!"

At Gordon's exclamation, Grandma Tracy sat forward, resting her arm on Scott's back. He didn't acknowledge her presence; his gaze was riveted on the video playing before them.

"There!" Gordon practically shouted. "I can see him! There! He's to the left of the pilot's seat."

"I need your help, Gordon," Alan said. "There's at least five different hot spots. Two of them are likely to blow. I can't get to him and handle these as well. You know where he is, I'll concentrate on putting the fires out."

"Okay, Alan. I'm on my way."

"Come on, Gordon," Scott muttered.

The camera had stopped panning and had remained trained on the one spot. Slowly the smoke thinned as Alan managed to get Thunderbird Two's various fires under control.

All except those that continued to lick around her unconscious pilot.

"Scott…" Grandma articulated. "Is he…"

Scott appeared to suddenly remember that his grandmother was seated beside him. He straightened so that he was able to comfort her. "He'll be all right, Grandma. He'll be all right…"

Three figures swam into view. One of them sprayed a fire extinguisher at the base of the nearby flames while the other two bent over the prone figure.

"Father and Brains," Scott confirmed.

What they were doing wasn't clear and the pair watching the video had to sit in frustrated silence for what seemed to be hours but must have been seconds.

At last Jeff spoke. "He's alive." The words were uttered as a sigh of relief.

Grandma felt Scott relax slightly.

Gordon moved into shot and, crouching down beside his father, blocked any view of the injured man.

Scott held up his left arm, touched his watch, and then lowered it again without initiating the radio contact. "Come on," he muttered again. "Move, someone."

When they did next move it was to get a stretcher. As the four men picked it up again, Scott stood. "I'm going down to help them."

"Scott…" Grandma rose to her feet quickly. As she did so the stresses of the last hour took its toll and she felt the room sway about her. She grasped his arm.

"Grandma? Sit down," Scott assisted her back into her seat. "Are you okay?"

She looked into his worried face and managed a weak smile. "I'm okay, Darling. I just realised that I'm going to have to miss that reunion with the girls. I've got more important things to worry about now."

"That's not for a few days yet," Scott reminded her. "Virgil'll be fine and you'll be free to go. He'd hate the idea of you missing out on something you've been looking forward to for so long, just because of someone else's stupidity."

"But I can't leave him."

"You can do some shopping while you're away. Get him something special. You always knew what would make us feel better when we were ill."

Grandma considered this proposal. "True. I can never trust the shops to pack the best pieces. I'll see. If he's well enough then I'll go."

Scott smiled. "Good…" There was a noise from the lift and he stood again.

The doors slid open and four men stepped into the room, manoeuvring the stretcher around the corner.

"Here, give me that," Scott took the stretcher handle from Brains and allowed the island's resident medical expert, mumbling things about smoke inhalation and concussion, to hurry on to the infirmary. Tin-Tin followed close at his heels.

Virgil was lying ominously still. A hastily applied pressure bandage over his forehead and an oxygen mask hid much of his face. That which wasn't hidden looked deathly pale.

Grandma Tracy reached out for her grandson, needing to touch him to reassure herself that he was still warm with life, but before her fingers made contact he was carried away from her and into the sick bay…

_To be continued..._


	2. The Tour Begins

**One: The tour begins**

Ned Cook sighed. Ever since the events of a few weeks ago, his bosses at NTBS had been treating him, and his cameraman Joe, with kid gloves. His frequent requests to be allowed to work on top news stories had been repeatedly denied.

"Take it easy, Ned," they'd say. "You had a nasty experience and we want to be sure that you are fully recovered. We don't want to risk losing our top news team again."

That's what Ned found so galling. He and Joe WERE a top news team. They had the ability to sniff out stories where other journalists would have said there was nothing. Sure sometimes it meant taking risks… the odd gamble or two… but more often enough it had paid off.

For some reason Ned was reminded of one time when his gamble hadn't paid off. Originally he'd been lucky and had been filming a totally unrelated story, when a nearby oil field had caught fire. This was big news. His luck appeared to have been magnified when they'd learnt that International Rescue had been called in to extinguish the fire and avert an even greater disaster.

Ned remembered looking at the two Thunderbird craft and wishing that he could get an interview with one of their pilots. That would have been the scoop of the century, and would have earned him international fame, journalistic notoriety, and numerous free drinks at the press club.

Ned realised now that he should have known better, that he should have respected International Rescue's requests for secrecy, but at the time he'd found that he couldn't take it any longer. He was close to the biggest story of his career and he wasn't about to let it fly away into the unknown.

With Joe filming on top of the van, he'd positioned the vehicle so that they had a clear tracking shot of Thunderbird One taking off. Ned remembered how he'd just been congratulating himself when Thunderbird One had landed again and the pilot had asked them, quite politely, to destroy the newly exposed film.

This demand, even one put so nicely, had made Ned's blood boil. What right had these people to impinge their demands on journalistic freedom? The world wanted to know about International Rescue and if Ned Cook had his way the world would find out!

He'd denied the man from International Rescue's request.

Ned remembered the thrill of the chase as he'd taken off, cross-country with Joe clinging to the roof of the van, pleading with him to stop. Many times since, Ned had felt guilty about the way he endangered Joe's life that day, but at the time he'd only felt the adrenaline rush of someone who'd done something a little naughty and got away with it.

But he hadn't got away with it. Thunderbird One had tracked him down and somehow, Joe still didn't understand how, had destroyed all the film they had, even the legitimate footage of the oil fire.

The events of that day could have soured International Rescue's attitude towards him and Joe, but they hadn't. A few days later Ned and Joe had been assigned to cover the moving of the Empire State Building from the site it had occupied for over 130 years, to a new one to make way for urban development.

The press releases the NTBS crew had been issued with had stated that every eventuality had been covered, that nothing could go wrong, and that they were going to witness one of the greatest news stories ever.

Well, not every eventuality had been covered, something went wrong – very wrong – and rather than reporting on one of the greatest news stories ever, Ned and Joe became the news story.

Being drowned in a formerly unknown underground river, beneath the ruins of the Empire State Building was not the way Ned Cook had envisaged his life ending. He was still amazed that despite the earlier events, International Rescue had been willing to try to save them both from certain death.

For a while there though, he did wonder if they ever would come to his rescue. For some reason it had taken 24 hours for Thunderbird Four to reach New York and then effect a rescue, succeeding just before their oxygen had run out. Ned wondered briefly why it had taken so long for International Rescue to reach them... He'd heard rumours that could have explained it, but nothing concrete…

Ned looked at Joe and Jasmine, the researcher assigned to their current project, bent over the computer keyboard, punching in the names of various sports-people and trying to find footage that the pubic would find interesting.

"It's Olympic Year," the producer had said. "People like to see what their heroes, and the villains, of past Olympics are doing now."

"Sports?" Ned had said. "You want ME to do a sports story?"

"Not just any sports story," the producer had enthused. "A whole series on the greatest sports event of all! The Olympics!"

"But… But… I don't do sports stories! I never have!" Ned had spluttered.

"Don't think of it as a sports story. Think of it as a researching challenge. It's right up your street. You're just the man to track down these athletes. Some of them appear to have vanished into thin air."

"But why me? Why not some sports journalist who has the contacts? I'm a newshound, not a sports buff."

"And you're also this news office's biggest asset. We don't want to over-stretch you and Joe. We need to know that when the big news story comes along you both are fit and ready to tackle it."

"But we are ready. We're fine! We…!"

"Ned!" The producer had said. And the expression on his face had told Ned that the subject was closed.

He was going to be researching and fronting a series on the athletes of past Olympic Games.

Oh, goodie.

"Who have we got now?" he asked Jasmine, with evident lack of interest.

"Let's see…" Jasmine ran her eyes down the list of notes and then keyed a code into the computer. "Gordon Tracy…"

"And what did he do that was so fantastic?"

"He was one of the youngest Americans to win a breaststroke gold medal," Joe read.

"Fascinating," Ned said in a flat tone.

"He came from Kansas originally."

"Well known for its swimmers," Ned couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

The video screen showed a shot of a teenager with a shock of wet, red hair, standing proudly on the top of the dais, gold medal around his neck and American Flag in his hand.

"So what's he doing now?" Ned asked.

Joe consulted his notes again. "Says here he works for his father."

"Helps run the general store does he? Or does he drive the tractor on the farm?"

Joe looked at his colleague and friend. "You haven't read any of this, have you?"

"A bunch of jocks all trying to see who can pump the most drugs into their bodies so they can beat other jocks and the drugs squads. What is there to read?"

"So you don't know who this Gordon Tracy is?"

"No. Should I?"

Joe chuckled, as Jasmine laughed outright. "He's Jeff Tracy's son."

Ned stared at Joe. "Jeff Tracy?"

"Yep."

"Multi-billionaire Jeff Tracy?"

"Yep."

"Mr 'I've got more money than most small nations' Jeff Tracy?"

"So you've heard of him," Joe chuckled again. "It's another reason why young Tracy captured the public's imagination. Jeff Tracy was a hero in his own right, in his time…"

"Tracy senior was an astronaut wasn't he?" Ned asked.

"That's right. If I remember rightly he requested that his name not be linked with his son's, so that any achievement young Gordon made would not be overshadowed by his old man's. It didn't work, of course. The public were fascinated by the son of the astronaut even before he'd won his medal."

"Knowing Tracy's desire for privacy now, that must have been annoying for him."

"I believe so," Joe agreed.

Ned suddenly got that old feeling that told him when he was on the verge of breaking a big news story. He didn't know what it was that would give him that feeling, but he'd had it often enough to not ignore it. "So this guy was one of youngest to get gold?"

"That's right," Jasmine confirmed, bringing up more data on the computer.

"What's the betting his Dad used his business contacts to get him some drugs that, at the time, were unable to be detected by the drug testers? Just that little something extra to buy sonny boy the gold."

Joe looked at his partner and laughed. "You've got your 'I'm onto something' expression, Ned. But you're barking up the wrong tree. There's no way Tracy would allow any of his sons to be involved with drugs. He sponsors numerous drug-fighting campaigns. Heck! It's rumoured that it's one of his foundations that are supplying the funds to stamp out the drug cheats at this Olympics!"

But Ned wasn't about to have his idea totally rejected. "Maybe it's guilt!"

"Guilt?" Jasmine asked.

"We all know what a goody two shoes Tracy is. Maybe Gordon getting his gold is the one indiscretion he's had in his lifetime, and he's trying to buy off his feelings of guilt!"

Joe shook his head. "I don't buy it."

"Well mark my words, there's something fishy about the Tracys. I can feel it. How old would Gordon be now?"

"Early twenties?"

"Right, let's find a more recent photo of him. I'm betting he'll look older than that because of the drugs."

But Jasmine was shaking her head. "I've been looking for a more up-to-date photo, but there's nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Jasmine said again. "Gordon Tracy was involved in a hydrofoil speedboat accident a few years later – he was a member of WASP – and although it was widely reported, there's no photos of him. I don't care where you look, and believe me I've been trying since we got this assignment, you'll not find a single recent photo of any of Jeff Tracy's sons."

"How many sons does he have?"

"Five."

"Five sons? And you can't find any photos? Come on, Jasmine. There must be something somewhere. There must be one of one of them coming drunk out of a night club, at some soiree pashing the host's daughter… or the host's son… a mug shot for speeding…"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ned, but there's nothing. Those guys are so clean I think Tracy must have coated them in Teflon at birth. There even seems to have been some kind of embargo on photos of the youngest…"

"Huh?" Ned stared at the researcher.

"He was a race car driver of some sort. Formula One? Stock Car? I don't know, but I do know that he was good. And I also know that you'll find photos of his car, you'll find photos of him racing in his car, you'll find photos of him wearing a full face helmet, but I'll give you 1000 dollars if you can find a photo of Alan Tracy's face. There's none to be found. I've asked about and apparently a few years ago Tracy senior pulled some strings and got every photo of his sons out of the public domain."

"Every photo?" Ned asked, aghast.

Jasmine nodded. "Every photo."

"I can't believe that. It's impossible…" Ned frowned at the frozen frame of Gordon on the dais. "You know, I'd swear I've seen that guy somewhere…"

"Probably on TV when he got his medal," Joe suggested.

"No… More recently than that," Ned said thoughtfully. "I'm talking within the last few months, not the last few years…" his frown deepened. "I'm sick of looking at that still. There must be an interview with him we can watch."

"There is," Joe said, "but it's still in the old 'Gratin' format. None of our machines can read it. We're going to have to get it copied over to 'Machin' format before we'll be able to view it."

"Ah, the joys of modern technology. Arrange it will you, Jasmine?"

"Sure," the researcher made a note.

Ned was still puzzling over the photo of the triumphant Gordon Tracy. "This is starting to annoy me. I know I've met him… I just wish I could remember where! I've got a feeling that if I knew where it would lead to a story a lot more interesting than the one we've been told to do."

"It might be," Joe said, "but the bosses won't go for it. You and I are supposed to be on 'light duties.' Making a cute and fluffy series about some people who had their 15 minutes of fame and now have been forgotten by all and sundry."

Ned looked at Joe. "You sound as excited by this assignment as I feel."

"Probably less so," Joe admitted. "It's not very challenging filming you interviewing someone. But it's our job, and I figure once we've got through this assignment, they'll feel they've done their bit to mollycoddle us and get us back where we belong."

"So you think we should make this a good show?"

"I think we should make this a very good show, and make the powers that be realise that you and I aren't ready for the scrap heap yet." Joe gave a sly smile. "And if we happen to find something newsworthy on the way…"

Ned chuckled, his spirits revived somewhat. "So… Young Gordon works for his old man, does he? Doing what I wonder? You know, Joe, there may be something to discover in this dead end series yet…"

* * *

"Dad." Gordon Tracy stood in front of his father's desk. "We need your help."

Jeff laid down his pen. "Is the tail section giving you problems?"

"No. We can handle Thunderbird Two okay. It's Virgil. He's wearing himself out. I've given up on trying to talk sense into him. Scott's talking to him now, but I think we need to call out the big guns."

Jeff sighed. "He's a menace to himself. I knew I should have confined him to the house for a few days longer."

"Yeah, well, you know Virgil. Where Thunderbird Two's concerned…"

"I know, Gordon. Thanks for telling me…"

* * *

Jeff, closely followed by Gordon, stepped into Thunderbird Two's hangar and stopped for a moment to appreciate the work that had been done on the mighty plane. Apart from the tail section, the parts for which had arrived only two days ago, she was almost back to her former glory. "You boys have done well," he complimented.

"Aided by a Fairy Godfather," Gordon grinned.

Jeff refrained from commenting. As they entered Thunderbird Two he reflected that it wasn't only Virgil who'd been overdoing it lately. While his middle son had been recovering from the crash that had almost destroyed his beloved plane, the other boys had worked like demons to bring her back to a useable condition. Over the last couple of weeks, each night at least one of them had skipped his evening meal and had headed straight for bed. Jeff knew that this dedication was the result of not only a desire to get International Rescue fully operational again, but to spare their brother the pain of seeing his 'bird as a wreck.

Jeff had to admit that he'd been just as bad. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd returned to the hangar after everyone else had gone to bed to finish that 'one little job that will only take five minutes'. Several hours later he'd retire himself and next morning there'd be invariably some comment from one of his sons about the fairies that would sneak out at night. He knew that they knew precisely who that fairy was. 'I'm not sure I like that association,' he thought ruefully as they took the lift up to the flight deck.

While Virgil had been recuperating he'd taken the opportunity to redesign the pilot's cabin, filling notebooks with sketches, improvements and ideas. Because of this his brothers, apart from stripping the cabin of its damaged fittings had barely touched it. They'd left Virgil and Brains with almost a clean slate to work with. Now that he was nearly fully recovered Virgil had been pestering his father to let him get started transforming his ideas into reality. Today was the first day that Jeff had weakened and let his son get back to work.

Jeff and Gordon stopped outside the door to the pilot's cabin. They could clearly hear Scott's strong voice gently cajoling his brother. "Come on, Virg. You've done enough for one day. Leave it for now."

"I can't leave it, Scott. I've nearly finished." Gordon was right. Virgil was sounding tired.

"You're practically dead on your feet!"

"I'm all right!" Virgil said testily.

"How long is that going to take?"

"I would have had it finished by now if you and Gordon hadn't interrupted me."

Gordon rolled his eyes at his father.

"How long, Virg?" Scott's voice persisted.

Jeff thought he heard a sigh from Virgil. "Half an hour? Three quarters max."

Jeff had heard enough. He slid open the door and stepped through. "Boys?" He thought he saw relief appear on Scott's face and resignation on Virgil's one. "What are you doing?"

Scott looked pointedly at Virgil.

"I'm just trying to finish this," Virgil held up some wires. "Then we can test the engines."

"He's doing the ignition system wiring," Scott explained before turning back to his brother. "Look, Virgil, even if you do finish this there's no way Thunderbird Two's going to fly until we get the tail section finished. You may as well take a break for the evening. Look at you, you've had it!"

"But…" Virgil started to protest.

"He's right, Virgil," Jeff said. "I'm sorry, but until I'm convinced that Thunderbird Two is airworthy there's no way that I'm going to let her take to the skies… and that goes for her pilot too."

Virgil sadly placed his bits of wire onto what was being transformed into the pilot's console.

Jeff looked about him. "You're doing good work," he commented trying to ease the blow.

"If I could just finish…"

Scott groaned.

"Virgil," Gordon said, "if you're not going to think about your health then at least think of the rest of us."

Virgil looked at his brother, trying to work out where he was coming from.

Gordon continued on. "If you don't take a break Grandma is going to start nagging you and telling you that you should have a rest…" He raised his voice to mimic his grandmother's. "Look at you, Virgil Tracy! You're looking pale." To complete the imitation he pinched his brother's cheeks.

Virgil knocked his hands away.

"Then she'll tell Dad off for not looking after you. So he'll start ordering you away from Thunderbird Two…"

Jeff tried to hide a smile.

"And then," Gordon continued on, "you'll go complaining to Scott about how they're both picking on you…"

"True," Scott agreed.

"And then Scott'll get sick of listening to you and he'll get into one of his moods…"

Scott frowned at his brother, but bit his tongue.

"…And make Alan's and my lives miserable." Gordon finished. "So to save everyone the aggravation why don't you pack it in now and go have a lie down somewhere?"

"But I've done nothing but lie down these last few weeks! Including while you were trying to reach those guys under the Empire State Building! I'm fine! I don't need to lie down!"

"Gordon's right," Scott backed his younger brother up. "If you're not going to think about yourself, then think of the rest of us!"

"Please," Gordon begged.

Virgil shook his head wryly. "I must be tired, because I think that actually makes some kind of sense. Okay… I'll leave it for now."

Gordon winked at his father.

Virgil looked around at his cabin. "How bad did it look before you cleaned up?"

"Pretty bad," Scott admitted. "But not as bad as the sight of you lying there unconscious with the cabin on fire. You had me worried for a bit there."

"Me too," Gordon agreed. "Don't ever frighten us like that again."

"Well, tell the Captain of the Sentinel to keep his finger off the firing button next time," Virgil told them. "I didn't appreciate being used for target practise."

* * *

They exited Thunderbird Two and stopped when they saw Alan walking across the hangar floor. "I thought I might find you guys here."

"Why?" Jeff asked. "What's the problem?"

"I've been talking to Brains and he says there's a category five cyclone heading our way. He estimates that if it continues on its present path we'll start to feel its presence in about three days time."

"Three days!" Virgil exclaimed.

"Category five!" Scott said. "That's pretty bad."

"I don't think you can get much worse," Gordon noted.

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "Brains was flicking through a database of other category Five cyclones that have hit this area. He found one called Cyclone Tracy."

"Cyclone Tracy?" Virgil repeated.

"Uh, huh. Apparently it killed 60 people and devastated Darwin in Northern Australia, in nineteen hundred and something or other. I told him that I didn't like the name association." He paused. "D'ya think we'll get Thunderbird Two finished before it hits? We'll want to get at least one test flight under our belt."

Scott sensed, rather than saw, Virgil turn back to his plane. He quickly clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder and prevented him from moving further.

Jeff saw the arrested movement. "I think we'll get Thunderbird Two finished in time," he said. "And we've got to remember that more times than not we have these alerts only to have them downgraded to a tropical storm."

"So we're not doing anything else on Thunderbird Two today?" Gordon asked.

Jeff shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We've all been working hard and we need a break. We're all tired, and tired men make mistakes. And that could be more disastrous than not finishing before the cyclone hits."

"But what if we get a call out because of the cyclone?" Virgil protested. "There's any number of islands that could need International Rescue's help at any moment!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Jeff said. "In the meantime I'm sure your grandmother is wondering where we all are. Dinner must be nearly ready. Come on, Boys."

Scott laid a companionable, but firm, arm across Virgil's shoulders and led him away from Thunderbird Two. He couldn't help but notice that his brother wasn't looking happy at being dragged away from what he considered to be urgent work. He also noticed that Virgil didn't look back at his plane. It was almost as if his brother was scared to see his craft in less than perfect condition.

When they reached the edge of the hangar Scott stopped and turned back. "She's looking good," he noted. "From this angle you wouldn't even know that anything had been wrong with her."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed as he looked back at the great green transporter. "You can't even see that missing bit of tail section, and we'll have that replaced tomorrow, no sweat."

"I reckon we'll have it finished by afternoon tea," Alan added. "Then we'll give her a quick coat of paint. Day after tomorrow we'll have her airborne."

Virgil looked at his brothers and appeared to steel himself. Slowly he turned, looking for the first time, since the accident, at his pride and joy. A smile spread across his face. "You're right. She does look good." He looked at his family in gratitude. "Thanks, Guys."

"Any time, but don't make it too often," Gordon said.

"Another thing I was going to remind you," Alan informed them. "Brains is going to test the fire alarms soon..." He'd no sooner finished saying the words when there was a screech followed by a blip.

"Thunderbird One's hangar's alarm is working," Scott remarked.

There was another screech followed by two blips. Gordon looked around Two's hangar. "I can't see any smoke."

A third screech was followed by three blips. "Three's launch bay," Alan said.

The fourth screech was followed by five blips. Gordon shuddered. "I hope we never get to hear that one for real. I often wonder if we'd reach Five in time to do something if it developed a fire."

The next screech had a different pattern and tone. "The Round House," Jeff noted.

The noises continued on, checking that the alarms for the various rooms in the Tracy Villa and other parts of the complex were all operational. At last there was silence.

"Thank heavens that's over," Jeff said rubbing his ears. "They all seem to be working."

Gordon looked at his watch. "I wonder if I've got time for a practise before dinner."

"Are you hoping to win another gold?" Alan asked facetiously. "I think you're a bit old now. Those young kids would swim right over you."

"Never!" Gordon protested. "I'd wipe the floor with each and every one of them."

"Maybe the floor, but they'd beat you in the pool," Alan rejoined.

They were still bickering during the monocar trip back up to the main house and when they stepped through the concealed doors into the lounge of the Tracy villa.

"Have you checked out Polinko's times?" Gordon asked his younger brother. "He's supposed to be the fastest in the world, but I can do quicker laps in our pool…"

"What do you expect? Our pool isn't an Olympic pool…"

Grandma Tracy was waiting for them. "Ah, there you are. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes." She looked at her middle grandson and frowned. "Look at you, Virgil Tracy! You've been working too hard. You're looking…"

"…Pale. I know." Virgil grabbed the hands that were about pinch his cheeks and gave his grandmother a fond kiss. "Don't worry. I'm going to grab a shower and get ready for dinner. And the most strenuous thing I intend to lift this evening is the lid of the piano."

She smiled at him. "You're a good boy. If only your brothers and father were as sensible as you. The hours they've been putting in these past weeks!"

Her comment went unheard by her two youngest grandsons. Alan and Gordon were still enjoying their debate.

"You're just jealous that no one wants to do a story on you," Gordon claimed. "Do you know how many times the researcher for that TV show's tried to get me to do an interview? It's almost a shame that I've got to turn them down…"

"Will you two shut up?" Scott ordered. "You're giving me a headache. The whole point is moot anyway. We all agreed when we started International Rescue that we wouldn't do anything public that wasn't good for the organisation. And that includes re-launching Olympic swimming careers."

"Scott's right," Jeff agreed. "Our secrecy is important, and that includes staying out of the limelight at all costs…"

* * *

"Where does Gordon Tracy live now, Jasmine?" Ned Cook asked.

Jasmine frowned as she looks through her notes. "That's another thing I haven't been able to discover. But his father lives on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean…"

"I remember," Ned interrupted.

"So I would assume that it's a good bet that Gordon lives with him, if he's working for him. If he doesn't, you can guarantee Jeff Tracy knows where he is."

"Right!" Ned rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "How're you feeling, Joe? Do you feel up to a long distance flight into the middle of nowhere?"

"You're convinced that there's more to the Tracys than Gordon's 15 minutes of fame?" Joe asked.

"I am."

Joe grinned. "Then I'm feeling just fine. I'll prepare the plane for a flight first thing tomorrow…"

_To be continued…_


	3. Testing Times

**Two: Testing times**

Ned Cook clambered out of the hover-plane, stretched, and tried to rub a kink from out of his back. It had been a long time since he'd travelled in such a small aircraft for such a long distance. He looked around. This place appeared to be your typical tropical paradise. Palm trees, white sands, golden sun, blue ocean waters, brightly coloured birds… "Do you think Tracy's place is like this?"

Joe had his nose buried in the engine of the hover-plane. "Probably. We're only about five hundred ks away from there. It's probably why he's living here. For the climate and to get away from people…"

"And to dodge a few taxes."

Joe looked out from under the engine's hood and wiped his hand across his forehead leaving a smudge of grease. "You really don't like this guy do you?"

"I don't know him," Ned admitted. "But I know there's something fishy about him, and I'd guarantee that it's something illegal. It's just a matter of us finding out what."

"And if we don't find anything? What if this whole trip is a waste of time? What if everything is above board and Gordon's working in the States somewhere? What do you think the bosses will say to us then? 'Don't worry, Guys. We don't mind spending a few hundred thousand dollars to send you two on a wild goose chase. Don't think another thing about it.'" Joe snorted and returned his attention to the engine.

"Relax," Ned told him. "I tell you something's not right about Tracy. And I'm equally sure that you and I are going to find out what that something is. We've just got to ensure that we get to spend a little time with him on his tropical hideaway... How're you going?"

"Nearly finished," Joe grunted.

"Are you sure it'll work? We don't want to end up crashing into the Pacific Ocean before we reach 'Tracy Island'."

"Are you worried that International Rescue will have to rescue us again?" Joe chuckled. "Don't panic. It'll work just fine. That cracked component will carry us perfectly safely for the little hop from here to Tracy's. And if what we know of Tracy's reputation is true, there's no way he'll let us risk our necks flying all the way back to the nearest inhabited land. He'll have to order in a replacement part and we'll have to enjoy his hospitality until it arrives."

"You're sure it's safe," Ned double-checked.

"Ned! It's safe!" Joe wrapped the original component in a rag and hid it in a compartment in the hover-plane. Then he closed the engine hatch and clambered back into the 'plane. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." Ned reclaimed his seat beside the pilot. "I'm ready to find out exactly what Mr Jeff Tracy is up to…"

* * *

Jeff Tracy stood on the tarmac of the runway and looked up at the large green 'plane before him. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Are you happy about this, Virgil? I'd understand if you want a bit more time… Maybe give someone else a chance to check that she's okay before you fly her again?"

Virgil gave his father a reassuring smile. "What's that they say about getting straight back onto a horse if you fall off? I'm fine… We both are. And I'm looking forward to getting airborne in Thunderbird Two again. I've missed not being able to work with her."

"Well… If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Virgil removed his father's hand from his shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll get this test flight over and done with and everything will be as it always was. We can all relax knowing that International Rescue is at full strength again, especially with this cyclone coming."

"Well, just remember not to be afraid to bail out if need be. You can guarantee that Scott'll be watching you like a hawk." Even as he spoke they could see Thunderbird One hovering above the summit of Tracy Island like the metaphorical bird of prey.

"I'm pretty sure we'll be all right," Virgil reassured him. "You've all done a great job repairing her and I'm 100 fit. There's nothing to worry about. I'll see you in about an hour's time." He walked over to Thunderbird Two, gave his father a wave and disappeared inside.

Jeff spoke into his radio. "Base to Thunderbirds One and Four. You boys ready?"

Gordon, inside Thunderbird Four, was already waiting in the waters by the end of the Thunderbird Two's runway. "In position," he intoned.

Scott looked over his shoulder at his youngest brother who was dressed in a wetsuit. "Are you ready, Alan?"

"I'm ready and I've got all the necessary kit ready too."

Scott activated his own radio link. "Thunderbird One. We're ready!"

"Base to Thunderbird Five. Requesting final check."

John checked his radar screens. "You're clear to launch."

"Did you hear that, Virgil? You've got the clearance to go. Be careful, Son."

"Yeah, we've put a lot of work into repairing Thunderbird Two," Gordon said. "Don't go breaking her now."

Virgil chuckled. "F-A-B," he acknowledged and started Thunderbird Two rolling down the runway to the launch pad. A short time later she was airborne.

"Base to Thunderbird One. I'm transferring control of this exercise over to you, Scott."

"F-A-B, Father. Okay, Virgil, do five circuits of the island. Start at 1000 kilometres per hour, increase to 2000. Maintain low cruising height."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied and started accelerating. "All systems green." He completed his required laps and brought Thunderbird Two into a low hover. "Ready to start next phase, Scott."

"Good. I'll drop down and pick up Gordon and then we can make a start on Phase Two."

From his vantage point in the air above the island Virgil watched as Thunderbird One came into land and Scott and Alan jumped out. With Gordon and Brains' assistance they loaded more equipment onboard the rocket plane and then the three Tracy men once again boarded the Thunderbird.

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two. How's she flying, Virgil?"

"She's perfect, John. Maybe even better than before the accident."

"How are you feeling?" John asked.

Virgil suppressed a groan. "I'm fine. The only illness I'm suffering from is being sick of everyone asking how I am."

"You gave us all a hang of a fright. We need that reassurance that you're still with us."

"Well I'm still with you and I'm not planning on going anywhere. So everyone can stop worrying."

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two," Scott's voice came out of the radio. "We're about to start Phase Two. How are you feeling, Virgil?"

This time the groan couldn't be suppressed. "I'm okay, Scott, never felt better. And I'd appreciate if you'd tell everyone that so that I can concentrate on this test flight. I don't need you all mothering me!"

"Okay, okay! I've got the picture," Scott said quickly. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted. Phase One was a-okay," Virgil told him. "Remind me what's the next test on the agenda?"

"Get her up to 5000 kilometres per hour in 500 k.p.h increments. Any problems, you're to slow down instantly. If you need to bail out I've got both Alan and Gordon on board to pick you up."

"I know, but I doubt there'll be any problems. You guys have done your usual sterling work. She's handling like a dream... Increasing speed now…" Thunderbird Two accelerated and Thunderbird One kept pace, keeping a close watch from a distance.

Scott looked at the speedometer on his console. "3500 kilometres per hour," he read out. "4000, 4500, 5000."

"Cruising at 5000 kilometres per hour," Virgil confirmed.

"Good. Turn 135 degrees west and then take her up to 8000 kilometres per hour."

Virgil did as he was instructed and soon reached the required speed. "All systems green."

"Okay, Thunderbird Two. That's good. Now we'll do the altitude test. Increase height to 20,000 metres."

"Increasing." Thunderbird Two rose smoothly into the air. When it reached 20,000 metres it stopped. "All systems green," Virgil repeated. "Now what?"

"Bring her back to base and go into a low hover. We'll try jettisoning the pod."

"F-A-B." Determined to give Thunderbird Two a thorough workout Virgil didn't follow the direct route back home, instead he took her through a series of tight turns and circles gaining altitude and losing height in quick succession.

All was well.

Tracy Island came into view. "Preparing to drop the pod," Virgil announced. He stopped a few hundred metres off shore and brought Thunderbird Two into a low hover. "Ready."

"Do you think maybe I should wait in Thunderbird Four?" Gordon suggested to Scott. "This is the most dangerous manoeuvre."

Scott considered the suggestion briefly. "Good idea." He opened the radio link. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. Maintain current status. I'm going to drop Gordon off and he'll stand by in Thunderbird Four."

"Okay," Virgil acknowledged. "I'm not anticipating any problems, but I guess it's better to be safe than sorry."

Scott brought Thunderbird One in to land on the runway. He waited there until he saw Gordon disappear into Thunderbird Four. Only then did he take to the skies again, zooming round till he was able to see Thunderbird Two through his side viewport. "Nice day for sitting around, Alan," he said by way of conversation.

"You wouldn't think there was a cyclone heading our way," Alan said. "Look at that blue sky!"

"Not if you look out there," Scott pointed away from the clear vista towards an ominous line of grey cloud which appeared to be bearing down on them in the distance. "And check out the weather radar," he added, indicating the instrument. "I wouldn't mind betting that the island will start to feel the effects of that cyclone before the day's out. I wonder what John thinks… Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five…"

"Thunderbird Five. What can I do for you, Scott? I can't make Gordon go any faster."

"Just wanting an update on that cyclone."

"Cyclone Sylvia, you mean?"

"Is that what they've called it?"

"Her, Scott. Cyclones always used to be named after women."

"I know. So what's her status?" Scott watched as the end of the runway titled towards the water.

"Still category five. You'll begin to feel the first signs in about five hours."

"What's her path?" Thunderbird Four was rolling along the runway.

"Heading straight for home. She should hit Tracy Island tomorrow morning and the eye will make landfall in approximately two days. I don't envy you guys."

"We'll be all right… Thunderbird Four's in the water. We'd better get back to business. All set, Virgil?"

"Ready," Virgil replied. "All clear, Thunderbird Five?"

"All clear," John confirmed.

"Dropping pod… now!" Virgil hit the release button and Thunderbird Two barely reacted as her middle section fell away into the Pacific's waters.

"Any problems?" Scott asked.

"Negative."

"Okay. Pick it up again."

As with all previous tasks Thunderbird Two handled flawlessly.

"Let's do the rounds again," Scott suggested. "Gain altitude to …."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbirds One, Two and Four!" There was no mistaking the urgency in John's voice. "Unidentified aircraft is approaching you from nor-nor-east. Take cover now!"

"Received!" Scott acknowledged. "Get that swimming pool open, Father." Even as he spoke he could see the waters receding into their underground reservoir.

"Gordon! I'm dropping the pod again!" Virgil said with urgency. "Drive in and I'll pick you up. It'll save time."

"F-A-B," Gordon acknowledged and watched as the pod splashed down again. He manoeuvred the submarine into the empty pod and the interior grew dark as the door behind her closed. "Pick me up when you're ready, Virgil."

Once again Virgil lowered Thunderbird Two down over the pod and hoisted her back into the great plane's fuselage. Then he brought Thunderbird Two into land and reversed her into her concealed hangar behind the cliff face, before both he and Gordon changed out of uniform and dashed up into the lounge.

Scott, Alan, Brains and Tin-Tin were already there, listening to the radio conversation between Jeff and the unknown caller. "So you see, Mr Tracy," a strangely familiar voice was saying, "we were hoping to interview Gordon."

The Tracys looked at each other uneasily.

"I'm sorry, Mr Cook," Jeff said. "But, as I think you've already been told, Gordon doesn't give interviews."

"But we've come such a long way, and as I said we've struck a slight problem…"

"Tell him to get lost," Scott growled, a determined expression on his face.

"Shhh," Alan grabbed his brother and dragged him into the hallway, followed closely by their two other brothers and Brains. "He'll hear you!"

"So!" Scott said in indignation. "Let him hear me. We've been polite for long enough…"

"That's not what I mean," Alan insisted. "Have you forgotten that he's heard your voice twice before… as the pilot of Thunderbird One?"

"Oh, heck," Scott said. "I had forgotten that."

"What's going on?" Gordon asked. "Is that idiot coming here? I told him I wasn't interested in doing any interviews."

"Not only that, but something's happened to his 'plane," Alan explained. "He claims he needs a replacement part before he can attempt the flight home. He's asking if he can at least land here to ascertain what repairs need to be made."

"Great!" Virgil moaned. "Just what we need, a nosy reporter hanging round."

"And a cyclone on the way," Alan reminded him. "How long would it take for you to manufacture a replacement part?"

"Depends on what's broken and how badly," Virgil told him. "Any ideas what it is?"

"Something n-not too serious," Brains said. "H-His pilot thinks they can make T-Tracy Island okay."

"So now the problem is," Alan folded his arms and looked at Scott and Gordon, "what do we do with you two? He's met both of you as members of International Rescue."

"Cook wasn't in good shape when I picked him up, but that's no guarantee that he won't recognise me," Gordon remembered. "He perked up when I got some oxygen into him. And there was his cameraman too. Is he on this flight?"

"I think he's the pilot," Scott said.

"He came to as I was offloading them into the ambulance." Gordon frowned at the recollection. "That's double trouble. I've got no option other than to hide in the underground bunkers, have I? I'll go start packing some gear now in case they aren't able to leave before the cyclone hits. Can you give me a hand, Alan?"

"Sure," Alan agreed.

"And what are we going to do about Scott's voice?" Virgil asked.

"I suppose asking you to go against the habit of a lifetime and not order us about would be too much to expect," Alan suggested. Scott gave him a sour look.

"I have something that could g-give you laryngitis," Brains offered. "It w-would be rather painful though."

"And what do we do if International Rescue's called out? I'll need to be able to speak then," Scott stated. "There's nothing else for it. Gordon and I will both have to hide. Can you give me a hand with my gear, Virgil?"

"What do we do if International Rescue's called out?" Alan asked.

"We'll activate Operation Storm Surge," Scott said. "Come on, fellas, we're wasting time. Brains, would you mind letting Father know what we've got planned?"

"Certainly, S-Scott." Brains returned to the lounge.

Jeff had finished the radio call with Ned Cook and was scowling at the receiver. "Well, Brains, for better or for worse he's coming here."

"Gordon and Scott have decided to hide in the b-bunkers, Mr Tracy."

"Scott? Why, Scott?" Jeff asked.

"They have heard his v-voice," Brains reminded his employer.

"That's right…" Jeff bit his lip and sat back. "Did you hear what was wrong with the plane?"

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy. It is not a serious problem."

"Do you think I've made the right decision inviting them here?"

"I-I think that as far as their welfare is concerned it is the best d-decision you could make."

"And as far as our welfare is concerned?"

"I-I don't know, Mr Tracy. Scott suggested that if International Rescue gets called out we'll have to activate Operation Storm Surge."

"That's logical." Jeff sighed and looked up at the row of portraits that lined the wall. "In the meantime we're going to have to hide as many pictures of Gordon as we can, without being obvious about it. From this moment we're operating under Operation Coverup Minus G." He pushed a button combination on his computer and Gordon's portrait slid backward into the wall. A replacement panel slid into its place, the paint slightly darker than the surrounding wall covering. The other portraits slid to one side, hiding the Tracy boys in their uniforms and replacing them with more casual shots. "We'll tell anyone who asks that his portrait was damaged and I'm having it repaired." Jeff picked up a photo that resided on his desk. "At least this one is of them all as boys…"

* * *

Ned Cook rubbed his hands together. "He fell for it, Joe!"

Joe chuckled. "He certainly did. He's going to have the welcome mat out for us isn't he?"

"He is. Can you imagine us living a life of luxury, courtesy of Jeff Tracy, while we find out exactly what he's hiding? Joe, my friend, I have a feeling that this is going to be the scoop of the century!"

Jeff Tracy met the newsmen cordially if slightly warily. "Welcome to my home, Gentlemen. I'm sorry you've had to travel such a long way on a wasted trip. Gordon's not living here at the moment."

"Oh," Joe tried to look disappointed. "I hope you're not going to tell us that he's in the States and we could have met him there instead of flying all this way in this bucket of bolts." He thumped the hover-plane lightly on its fuselage.

"No, he's not in the States," Jeff said. "He's working for me elsewhere on a highly confidential project. I'm sure you understand that I don't want to divulge more… for business reasons."

"Of course," Ned said. "We understand perfectly. And we do appreciate your offer of assistance. Joe tells me that whatever is broken in the hover-plane needs replacing. I don't pretend to understand aeronautical mechanics."

"Would you mind if my son, Virgil," Jeff indicated the chestnut haired young man who was standing off to one side of the group, "had a look at the damaged part. He might be able to repair it."

"We'd be grateful of any help," Ned said, sounding cheerful at the offer. "Isn't that right, Joe?"

"Oh, yes," Joe agreed. "Extremely grateful."

"Looks like you're on," Alan whispered into Virgil's ear. "What are you going to do? The ol' two step shuffle?"

Virgil looked at his brother. "What?"

"The way everyone's tap-dancing around each other I thought you might want to join in."

Virgil shook his head in exasperation and stepped up to the hover-plane. He stood on a small platform, opened the engine compartment and looked inside. "What appears to be the problem?" he asked, his voice sounding hollow.

Joe came and stood beside him. "There," he pointed out the damaged component. "We noticed that had cracked when we stopped on an island a few hundred kilometres away from here. We figured it was safer to fly on rather than risk facing that cyclone."

"Mmn," Virgil agreed, not willing to comment. "I can machine a new part, but it'll take a few hours."

"How many do you reckon, Virgil?" Alan asked.

Virgil stepped down and wiped his hands on a rag. "Two, maybe three." He gave his father an apologetic look.

"The cyclone will be almost upon us by then," Jeff noted. "Looks like you'll be staying with us until it's passed, Gentlemen."

"I hope we're not putting you to any trouble," Ned lied. "We didn't come here expecting to take up more that a couple of hours of Gordon's time."

Jeff didn't acknowledge the statement.

Virgil had his head back inside the hover-plane's workings. "We'd better move the 'plane into the hangar. It'll be easier to work on there."

"And drier if that cyclone hits early," Alan added. "I'll help ya, Virg."

"Will you need Brains' help?" Jeff asked.

Virgil shook his head. "No. Between Alan and I, we can manage. I'll make a start on the 'plane when we've finished securing the house."

"Fine," Jeff said. "We'll leave you boys to it. Mr Cook…"

"Ned. Please call me Ned," Ned smiled an ingratiating smile.

"And I'm Joe," Joe piped up.

"Very well," Jeff agreed, but did not reciprocate the invitation. "Ned… Joe… If you'll both come with me I'll take you up to the house."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy." Ned and Joe removed their bags from the plane and followed their host up to the villa under the darkening skies.

Virgil and Gordon looked at each other and set about shifting the plane under the protective cover of the hangar.

Inside the villa Jeff introduced the two unwanted guests to the other residents. "This is my mother…"

"Mrs Tracy," Ned directed his most bewitching smile towards the elderly lady.

She responded with a curt nod and received a warning glare from her son.

"This is my head engineer and researcher," Jeff indicated Brains.

Ned filed a mental note about how odd it was that Jeff Tracy had a scientist living with him. There had to be something of interest there.

"Mr T-Tracy," the little man stuttered. "All is well with the b-bunker's, ah, latest additions."

"Good, Brains. Thank you," Jeff said. "This is Brains' assistant, Tin-Tin."

"How do you do, Mr Cook," Tin-Tin said, trying to sound gracious.

"Ah, both beauty and brains," Ned gave her a winning smile.

Tin-Tin resisted the temptation to be sick.

"And this is Tin-Tin's father, Kyrano," Jeff completed the introductions. "Perhaps you'll take Ned and Joe's bags to the guest rooms, Kyrano."

Kyrano bowed. "It would be a pleasure, Mr Tracy."

Ned put a few pieces of the puzzle together. So Kyrano was Tracy's servant and his daughter was his head engineer's assistant. Maybe that's why the head engineer lived with them.

Maybe.

"…Put the camera equipment into the storeroom," Jeff was saying.

"Now wait a minute!" Joe protested. "You can't do that!"

Jeff turned to the cameraman with an expression that could only be interpreted as cool. "I'm sorry, but as long as you are in this house I will not permit any recordings to be made. You can be assured that your equipment will be perfectly safe."

"But… But why?" Joe spluttered as he watched Kyrano place the heavy camera gear onto a trolley in preparation for removing it from the room.

"I'm sure you are aware," Jeff said, "that I value my privacy. And… and I mean no disrespect to either of you gentlemen, but as a rule I don't trust the media. I would feel much happier knowing that your equipment is under lock and key."

"You can't do that!" Joe stormed. "Haven't you heard of the freedom of the press?"

"I have. But on this island, my word is law. If you like, you have come, uninvited, to a benign dictatorship."

"This is crazy! It's wrong! It's…"

"Whoa, Joe," Ned soothed. "As Mr Tracy says, it's his place, and as he's kindly agreed to let us stay here until the storm passes, I think we should go along with what he says. I'm sure your gear will be perfectly all right."

"But…"

"And if Gordon's not here, you've nothing to film anyway." Ned turned back to Jeff, determined to get back into his good books. "You don't know cameramen, Mr Tracy. They become very possessive of their equipment, believing that only they can operate that piece of machinery to its maximum potential. Take them away from their cameras and they feel that the journalistic world will degenerate into a mush of senseless nonsense. As a rule we try to humour them…"

"Ned…" Joe protested.

Ned ignored him. "I'm sorry if we've caused offence, Mr Tracy."

Jeff decided that if they were going to be trapped together for goodness knows how many hours, they'd better try to get along. "No offence taken."

Ned looked at a row of portraits that ran the length of one wall and noticed one missing. "These are your boys, Mr Tracy?"

"Yes, you've already met Virgil and Alan. Gordon, Scott and John are away on business."

"Where is Virgil?" Grandma asked.

"He and Alan are securing the house against the cyclone, before he starts work on Mr Cook's 'plane."

"Jeff!" she scolded.

"He's all right, Mother. Don't worry."

Grandma glared at her son in disapproval, but said nothing.

Ned examined the portraits. "Which one's Gordon?"

"I'm afraid Gordon's portrait has been broken. The frame was poorly made and I'm having it replaced." Jeff's lie sounded convincing.

"Handsome men," Ned commented.

"Yes they are," Jeff agreed.

"Do you know that's the first photo I've seen of Alan?" Ned indicated the portrait of the young blonde. "It's next to impossible to find one of him, despite the fact he's an accomplished driver."

"Alan doesn't like being in the limelight," Jeff told him. "None of my boys do."

"Following in their father's footsteps are they?" Ned laughed. "It's been even harder to find a photo of Gordon. Perhaps you'll be able to supply me an up-to-date one for the show."

"I don't think that will be possible," Jeff almost growled. "I believe Gordon has told you that he doesn't wish to participate in your TV show."

"Not exactly," Ned said. "One of your P.R. people has told me that Gordon doesn't want to participate."

"On Gordon's instructions," he was informed.

"But the viewing public would like to know what one of the youngest gold medallists ever has been doing in the intervening years. Especially since his hydrofoil accident."

Jeff was firm in his reply. "Then I'm afraid you are going to have to disappoint the viewing public. Kyrano, have you made up the guest rooms?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy, I have prepared two rooms in the Villa. I fear that the cyclone will make walking between the Round House and the villa impossible."

It wasn't an ideal situation from International Rescue's point of view, but Jeff accepted it. "Thank you, Kyrano."

"Mr Cook." Kyrano bowed again. "If you and your associate will follow me, I will take you to your rooms."

"Thank you, Kyrano," Ned said and tugged at his friend's sleeve. "Come on, Joe."

The three of them departed the room.

Jeff waited a moment before he spoke. "This is not going to be easy, I can see that."

"He's persistent," Tin-Tin noted.

"And smooth, too smooth," Mrs Tracy agreed. "But what can we do? We said we'd repair his hover-plane."

"And the cyclone's too c-close," Brains added. "It would practically be m-murder to send them out in that little 'plane now."

"I know," Jeff sat down in his customary place at his desk. "We're just all going to have to be very, very careful."

_To be continued…_


	4. Revelations

**Three: Revelations**

Buried deep underground, almost in the heart of the volcano that topped Tracy Island, the bunkers were a refuge from the outside world. Consisting of five twin bedrooms, a communal living room, a kitchen, and a small ablution area, they were a complete, self-contained unit able to sustain life for up to two years.

The idea of being trapped underground for that length of time made Gordon's blood run cold. He threw the last of his things into the drawer and shoved it closed with his knee. Then he looked around the room that was going to be his for the next few days. Like the others in this part of the complex it contained two beds, two chests of drawers and two trunks. It wasn't a bad room, as bedrooms go, and, apart from the fact that there were no windows, you could almost forget that you were surrounded on all sides by solid granite.

Almost.

Long ago the decision had been made as to who would share with whom in the case of nuclear explosion, hostile invasion or any number of unthinkable scenarios. Scott and Virgil would bunk together in room one. Gordon and his occasional partner in crime, Alan, would live in room two…

"Behind lock and key?" John, destined to be billeted with his father in room three, had suggested at the time.

As they were each used to their own form of quiet meditation/contemplation, Brains and Kyrano had room four. Naturally Tin-Tin and Grandma shared the final room together.

By mutual agreement, and in an attempt to maintain their sanity, Gordon and Scott had agreed to sleep alone in their allocated rooms.

Gordon eyed the trunks at the end of the two beds. Each was locked and contained some personal items that belonged to one of the room's tenants. He knew what was in his and was curious as to what Alan had chosen to store in the one at the foot of his bed.

Deciding that he had plenty of time to 'admire' his surroundings later, Gordon decided to escape the bunkers for a short time, knowing that Scott would still be putting away his things. Ignoring the way in which they'd entered, he instead chose to leave via another exit. He followed a dim, narrow corridor for what seemed to be miles, climbing and passing through numerous heavy steel doors, until, almost unexpectedly, the walls fell back and the ceiling rose up forming what could be a massive mausoleum. He walked across the room, hardly making a sound, and climbed up a short incline. "Hi, Virg."

Virgil, working inside Pod 4, jumped in fright, hit his head on a shelf and spun round. "Don't do that to me!"

"Sorry. Watcha doin'?"

Virgil stepped clear of the shelf. "Cleaning down the pod. We might be called out to a rescue with this cyclone."

"I hope not. Not with Cook nosing round."

"Are you settled?"

"Yep," Gordon nodded.

"Where's Scott?"

"Probably still colour co-ordinating his underwear in his drawers."

Virgil chuckled.

"Where's Alan?" Gordon asked.

"He's making a start on prepping Thunderbird One. When Scott comes out from the dungeons he can take over and then Alan can give us a hand here. Do you want to check Thunderbird Four while I carry on with what I was doing?"

"That's what I'm here for." Gordon climbed into his yellow submarine and started the diagnostics programme. When he was satisfied that the computer was humming away he stuck his head out of the hatch just in time to see their eldest brother startle Virgil when he came bounding into the pod.

"Didn't take you long to get sorted," Scott said to Gordon.

"Nope. I just chucked everything into my drawers. It's not like we're going to be down here for months."

"Maybe not, but it could easily be for at least a week." Scott turned to Virgil. "Where's Alan?"

"Doing your job for you," Virgil told him. "He's made a start on Thunderbird One."

"Good. I'd better go and make sure he's doing it properly," Scott said and turned to go. He stopped when his watch beeped.

Gordon frowned when he saw Virgil flinch.

Scott didn't see the movement as he looked at the timepiece, its light casting an eerie glow over his face. "Scott here."

"Hi, Scott," his brothers heard Alan's voice. "I just thought I'd let you know that Thunderbird One's shipshape. You don't need to do anything to her."

"Thanks, Alan, but you won't mind if I double check, will you?"

"You don't need to."

"I know I don't need to, but I want to…"

"She's okay, Scott!" Gordon and Virgil could imagine Alan's expression at what he would perceive to be his big brother's lack of trust. His disapproval was clear from the tone of his voice.

"She's also my 'bird and I'll sleep a lot better knowing that I've given her the once over too."

"Fine," Alan muttered. "Have it your way. Where is everyone?"

"Pod Four."

"I'll come and help Virg then. At least he appreciates my assistance."

"It's not you, Alan," Scott began. "It's…" The light on his face was extinguished. "He disconnected me!"

Virgil and Gordon burst out laughing. "You're surprised?" Gordon exclaimed. "He thinks you don't trust him."

"Of course I trust him. I'll bet he'd want to check Thunderbird Three for himself if I'd been the one checking her over. You'd want to give Thunderbird Four the once over if I'd checked her, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes," Gordon nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

There was a bang as Alan announced his entrance into the pod by slamming the door behind him.

Virgil, yet again, jumped in fright and pretended to stagger back until he was supported against the wall of the pod, his hand pressed to his chest. "What is it with you guys? I thought you were glad that I survived the crash," he complained. "Now I think you're all trying to frighten me to death."

"Are you all right?" Gordon asked in concern. "You seem to be a bit jumpy."

Virgil straightened. "I'm fine. I'm just on edge because there's a category five cyclone on the way, we haven't fully tested Thunderbird Two, and we've got two nosy reporters in the house."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Scott pressed.

"I'm sure."

"Really sure?"

"Scott!" Virgil snapped in exasperation. "I'm fine! Go check Thunderbird One!"

"Yeah," Alan sounded sullen. "Check I haven't left my toys lying around." His brothers ignored him.

"Thunderbird Two will be fine," Gordon was trying to reassure Virgil. "My only concern is Cook!" He glared up towards the ceiling.

"I keep telling myself that she's as good as she was," Virgil admitted. "I know she handled flawlessly in the tests we did. But I would have been happier if we could have made some more test flights… Maybe even through the fringes of the cyclone."

"And we would have done if those two hadn't turned up in a broken plane," Scott grumbled. "When are you going to fix it?"

"Straight after I've finished here," Virgil told him. "I don't want them to have any excuses for hanging around here longer than necessary…"

* * *

Ned Cook exited his room and wandered up the hallway of the Tracy Villa. He had to admit that the room he'd been given was one of the most comfortable that he'd stayed in in all his years working as a journalist. He stopped every now and then to admire the photos that lined the walls. Most of them were of the Tracy boys, he noted. None of them were of Gordon. 

He found himself in the lounge and took a moment to admire the four portraits, before examining the one that wasn't there. He ran his fingers along the darkened paint that showed where the portrait had existed and examined the tips. They were clean. He reflected that if it weren't for this shadow it would almost be easy to believe that there were only four Tracy sons in the household. For some reason 'Gordon's' portrait had occupied the last space in the line-up. He frowned. He was sure that Jasmine had told him that Alan was the youngest.

"Strange," he said to himself.

He turned away from the enigma that was the Tracy boys and walked out onto the patio. Here, if he looked to the one way, he could see the blue sky of a brilliant tropical day. It was from the opposite direction that you could see the approaching menace; a long line of almost black cloud marching relentlessly towards Tracy Island, driving before it a mild chop in the Pacific's waters. For no real reason Ned shuddered.

He looked down below him and gave an ironic chuckle. He was definitely at a billionaire's house. Who else would have a swimming pool when he was living so close to sandy beaches and the ocean? Some people obviously liked to, literally, splash their money about. The pool drew his thoughts back to the original reason why he was here on Tracy Island. Where was Gordon Tracy? And why were there no recent pictures of him…?

Ned heard a sound behind him and turned to see who had entered the lounge. It was Tin-Tin and he gave her a smile in greeting. She hesitated a moment and then came out to join him on the patio. "Hello, Mr Cook," she acknowledged.

"Please, call me Ned. And your name is Tin-Tin, isn't it?" he asked, turning on the charm. "That's an interesting name."

"It's Malaysian," she offered with an uncertain smile.

"Ah, that explains your delicate features. So you work for Mr Tracy."

"Yes, Mr Cook."

"Doing what?"

"Helping Brains," she said guardedly.

"Doing what?" he repeated.

"Research."

"Research into what?"

"Various projects."

"Top secret?"

"Yes."

"Come on," he gave her a playful nudge. "I won't tell anyone. Give us a clue. Just one project?"

"Sorry, Mr Cook. I can not."

"You're loyal to Mr Tracy. I can see that."

"Yes, Mr Cook. My father and I owe a lot to Mr Tracy."

"I've been checking out the photos of his sons. There's not many of Gordon… In fact I don't think I've seen any!"

He watched as her cheeks reddened and she looked away down into the courtyard below. "Virgil and Alan have managed to store everything away," she said in a flustered manner.

"What's usually there?" he asked, trying to put her at ease again.

"Pool furniture," she replied, glad to be able to give a straight answer.

"Don't want that blowing away in a storm, do we?" Ned said.

"No," Tin-Tin agreed.

"Though it doesn't seem to be coming any closer," Ned indicated the line of grey in the sky.

"John says it's stalled."

"John does?"

Tin-Tin nodded. "According to the satellite's weather computer…" Suddenly realising what she was saying, she raised her hand to her mouth, and paled.

"Satellite?" Ned queried, intrigued by her reaction.

"He… ah… he does astronomy. He needs to know if the weather's clear. He accesses one of Mr Tracy's satellite computer stations… yes, that's right… in a building." Tin-Tin was talking quickly, trying to cover her tracks. "He telephoned earlier. I spoke to him. He said the cyclone's stopped, but he thinks it'll start moving again… soon…" She stopped talking, breathing slightly heavily and looked around trying to find an excuse to escape.

"So is that what John's doing? A little star gazing?"

Tin-Tin nodded, wary. Her lips clamped tightly shut.

"And he's gone somewhere else to do this?"

Tin-Tin nodded again.

"Is this one of Mr Tracy's projects?"

Tin-Tin turned when she heard someone call her name softly. "Father?"

"My daughter, Mister Brains is looking for you."

"Thank you, Father. I will come straight away… Goodbye, Mr Cook," she gasped.

"Ned… Please call me, Ned," he insisted, but she had gone.

He watched as father and daughter conversed in quiet tones. Tin-Tin, her head bowed in a subservient manner totally at odds with her modern attire, spoke first as Kyrano, frowning, kept glancing in Ned's direction. Then the older man said something in reply before taking the young lady by the arm and leading her out of the lounge.

* * *

"Done!" Alan slapped his hands together in satisfaction. "How's it look, Virgil?" 

"Fine, Alan."

"At least you appreciate my work."

"Alan!" Scott said in exasperation. "I never said I didn't appreciate your work!"

"Leave him, Scott," Gordon suggested. "He'll grow out of it eventually."

"Gordon!" Alan complained.

Someone's watch beeped. They all looked at Scott as he answered it. "Hello, John."

"Hiya, Scott. Are you settled yet?"

"Ages ago," he was told.

"Oh!" John sounded surprised. "I thought you'd still be unpacking!" From behind Scott's frown he heard Alan laugh. "Where are you?"

"In the pod. We've just finished going through the checklists."

"That's good. Sylvia's on the move again and she doesn't look like she's any less furious. I wouldn't be surprised if we get a mayday before she's blown herself out."

"Thanks for that, John," Scott growled. "That's NOT what we wanted to hear."

"Any time. Just thought I'd keep you up with the play," John sounded almost obscenely cheerful. "I'll call you if there's any further developments."

"Thanks," Scott's growl had lowered an octave.

"See you, Scott."

"Later." Scott signed off. "Great!" He slapped his hand onto the pod's bulkhead.

"I think," Gordon was reaching into one of the lockers in the side of the pod, "I'll put my uniform into my room. That way if we do get a call out I can be dressed by the time you guys have escorted Cook and Co into the storm rooms. I can have Thunderbird Two rolling while Virgil's getting changed."

"Good idea," Scott agreed. "Pass me my uniform will you?"

"Sure." Gordon opened a locker and withdrew the two tone blue uniform that belonged to Scott. "Here y'are." He threw it towards his brother.

"Hey!" Scott caught it. "You'll crease it!"

"That's our uniform you're talking about, Scott," Alan reminded him. "It doesn't crease."

"That's not the point…"

Virgil shook his head in exasperation. "I'm not going to hang around here and listen to you fellas argue. I'm going to start the repairs to Cook's 'plane."

"While you're doing that, Gordon and I can shift Mobile Control into Thunderbird Two," Scott said. "If the winds get as strong as John's predicting, there's no way I'm going to be able to launch Thunderbird One through the swimming pool."

"Okay." Virgil left the pod.

Alan attempted to follow him, but was held back. "Keep an eye on him, will you?" Scott asked quietly. "Make sure he doesn't overdo it?"

"I'm okay, Scott!" Virgil yelled from the other side of the room. "Quit worrying!"

"How'd he know?" they heard Gordon mutter.

Alan rolled his eyes. "He's fine, Scott. He was shifting the pool furniture as if he'd never been injured. I think all that lying about must have rejuvenated him. Don't worry!"

Scott eyed his youngest brother. "Well… Okay… But…"

"I'll make sure he doesn't overdo it," Alan appeased him, while trying not to look at Gordon who was pulling faces.

"Sorry that it sounded as though I didn't trust you before, Alan," Scott apologised. "I guess it's not only Virgil who's on edge with all that's going on at the moment."

Alan patted him on the shoulder. "That's okay, Scott. I understand. I'll come back and see you later… okay?" He detached himself from Scott's grip and ran after Virgil.

"He was asking you to keep an eye on me, wasn't he?" Virgil asked as they walked from the hangar, through a false wall, and into a supply room.

"Yep… He's going to go and check Thunderbird One now, isn't he?"

"Yep." Chuckling they checked that the way in front of them was clear and then walked into the conventional aeroplane hangar. Virgil eyed Ned and Joe's plane. "I wonder when they noticed that component was cracked? Fuel consumption must have been skyrocketing!"

"Do you need my help at the moment?" Alan asked.

"Why? What were you planning?"

"I thought I'd do a bit of snooping of my own…"

* * *

Ned decided that he'd head back down to the guest rooms and see how Joe was getting on. He was halfway down the hallway when he came upon Grandma Tracy, industriously dusting the photo gallery. "Does your son pay a good wage?" he joked. 

"I like to maintain the illusion that he and the boys still need me," she replied.

"I'd bet they'd be lost without you," Ned's smile was ingratiating. It was an expression that had worked well with little old ladies in the past. Before long she'd be offering him a delicious meal and telling him all the family secrets.

'_Crawler,' _Grandma thought. "My boys are completely self sufficient," she said out loud.

"They must be, if three of them are willing to leave this tropical paradise… Even for a short time."

She said nothing.

Ned examined the photos. "These are almost a complete history lesson on your family's achievements."

"Yes," there was pride in her voice. "This is Jeff when he came back from the moon… That's Scott being presented with his medal for valour... That's Alan winning at Parola Sands…" she moved along the line of photos. "This is when John graduated from Harvard…"

"What about Gordon?" Ned asked. "I would have thought you'd at least have one photo of Gordon winning his Olympic medal. But there's nothing."

Grandma bit her lip.

Ned kept on pressing his point. "In fact the only photo of Gordon that I've seen in this house is the one on your son's desk. And how old would he have been then? Three? Four?"

"Two," Grandma replied. "It was taken just before…"

"Yes?" Ned had the feeling he was going to learn something of interest.

Grandma looked about her furtively. "Look, Mr Cook…"

"Please call me, Ned."

"Ned… I'm going to tell you this… but you must promise to tell no one! You mustn't even mention it to my family!"

"Why?" Ned frowned in puzzlement.

"Because… Because no one talks about it. No one dares! The memories are too…" Grandma shrugged as if she were struggling to find the right word.

Ned waited with baited breath, sure that he was going to hear something monumental about the lives of the Tracy family. He surreptitiously turned on a voice recorder concealed in his pocket.

"You may have noticed…" Grandma sounded hesitant as she began to tell her tale. "That all of my grandsons have followed, to a certain extent, in their father's footsteps. They've all become pilots or astronauts…"

"Yes," Ned nodded. He had noticed that.

"…All except Gordon. For years Jeff has pretended that he hasn't minded, that he's been proud of Gordon's achievements… But I've known… I've known that beneath the surface…"

"Yes?" Ned repeated.

"My son is a proud man. He's proud of the fact that four of his boys have chosen to be like him."

"And he's not so proud of the one son who didn't?"

Grandma nodded, appearing to be saddened by Jeff's attitude to Gordon. "It all came to a head a few weeks ago."

"What did?"

"It's when your researcher started requesting the interview with Gordon. He was quite excited by the idea that the world actually remembered him for something that he'd achieved, and not only because he was Jeff Tracy's son…"

"And Jeff Tracy didn't like it?"

Grandma shook her head miserably. "No. All those years of disappointment came to the surface. There was an argument… Such language! And Jeff said that there's no one lower than a WASP submariner! He meant it literally as well as figuratively and it cut Gordon to the quick, I could see that." She took a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ned said.

"If John and Scott had have been home it would have been different. Scott has an almost parental way with his brothers, and John's always been a quietening influence…" She shook her head again and allowed herself a dramatic sigh. "But they weren't home. There was no one capable of separating the pair of them until things calmed down… It ended with Gordon storming out of the house, vowing never to come back. And Jeff made a vow too. He vowed that from that day onwards he only had four sons. He never wanted to hear Gordon's name mentioned again." Pretending to blow her nose she thought, _'I hope you feel guilty, Ned Cook!'_

Ned didn't. "But he keeps that photo of his wife and five sons on his desk."

"That's his favourite photo. It was taken a few days before Lucille was killed. He couldn't bear to be parted from it. It must be tearing him to shreds to look at this photo and see the son he's disowned."

Ned Cook was silent for a moment. This was a side to Jeff Tracy that he hadn't expected to have revealed to him. And it was revealing too! It gave him a hitherto unseen insight into Jeff Tracy, philanthropic billionaire.

"You can understand why you mustn't repeat this to anyone!" Mrs Tracy was saying.

"Oh, yes," Ned agreed.

"You can also understand why everyone has been on edge," Grandma continued. "I'm pretty sure his brothers have been secretly looking for Gordon, but we've no idea where he is at this moment." In order to reconcile the lie she was telling she told herself quietly, '_He could be in his new room, or with Thunderbird Four, or Thunderbird Two..._'

"Yes, I understand." Ned looked into her faded blue eyes as his understanding grew. He'd put down the obvious unease this family had been displaying to the approaching cyclone, and to a lesser extent, to his and Joe's presence on the island. The dispute and Gordon's subsequent disappearance made a much more compelling argument. "Not a word of what you've told me will pass my lips."

"Thank you, Mr Cook…"

"Ned."

"Thank you, Ned. I know I can trust you to keep this to yourself." _'I'll bet!'_

"I'd better leave you to your work," Ned said. "Perhaps we can talk later?"

Grandma Tracy gave him a gracious nod. _'Or perhaps you'll get into that broken plane of yours and fly off into the cyclone.'_

Humming quietly to himself, Ned knocked on his partner's door. It slid open revealing a disgruntled Joe. "Oh. It's you."

"Still sulking because he took away your camera?"

"I'm a cameraman, Ned. How am I supposed to film anything without my camera? We're going to be in the middle of a cyclone. Imagine what footage I could get!"

"You should do what I do, my friend, and carry a spare," Ned produced the recorder.

Joe smirked. "You've picked up some dirt on the Tracys?"

"Now, Joe, I made a solemn promise that not one word of what I heard will pass my lips."

"So you're going to let your gizmo doing the talking for you," Joe guessed.

Ned grinned and pushed the play button…

* * *

"Jeff? May I have a word?" 

Jeff looked up from his desk. "Of course, Mother." He watched her as she made a point of ensuring that the door was closed before taking a seat.

"We won't be overheard?"

Jeff chuckled. "You know full well that this room's soundproofed."

"I've been talking to Ned Cook."

At once Jeff's good humour soured. "What's he been saying?" he growled.

"Not a lot. I was the one who did all the talking."

"Mother?"

"I told him a little white lie."

"Mother!" Jeff repeated. "What did you say?"

"I told him that the reason why there aren't any photographs of Gordon is because you and he had had a falling out."

"Mother!" Jeff sat back, aghast at the revelation.

She detailed her conversation with the reporter. "You did say that there was nothing lower than a WASP submariner…"

"But I made that comment as a joke at Gordon's 21st birthday party! I'm proud of what he's achieved!"

"I know that, and Gordon knows that, but Cook doesn't. And if it helps to get him off our back… I did it for International Rescue, Jeff!"

"I know, and thank you… but I can't believe that you lied. My mother lied!"

Mrs Tracy sat back and gave him a grim smile. "Just remember there's a few surprises in the old girl yet."

"So I'm learning…"

* * *

Virgil examined the cracked component carefully. Ned and Joe had been very lucky, he had to admit. If they'd had to go much further the unit would have broken for sure. He said as much to Alan and got a muttered reply from somewhere within the hover-plane. 

The first task was to get detailed measurements of the various dimensions of the component. Virgil opened the lid on the scanning machine and placed the part inside. This was critical. He needed to expose as much of the surface area to the scanner's laser as possible, while keeping the component in one piece. Gingerly he lowered the clamp that was designed to keep whatever was being scanned immobile. Unhappy with it's placement he lifted the clamp up and repositioned everything before lowering the clamp down again.

A snapping sound heralded his worst fears.

Stifling a mild curse he removed both segments of the now broken component and examined them critically. This was going to add at least two more hours onto the repair time.

"How's it going," Alan asked from behind him.

Virgil turned, and looked at his brother, who was standing with his hands behind his back. "I broke it."

"Tricky," Alan said. "Can you still make a replacement?"

"Yes. But it's going to take twice as long. I'll have to take and enter the measurements manually."

"So if you had a complete unit, you could get the replacement made quicker?"

"Of course." Virgil wondered why he was being forced to state the obvious.

"Then maybe this'll help." Alan brought his hands around to the front. In them he held an exact replica of the broken part that Virgil was holding.

Virgil dropped the broken unit onto a workbench and took the one Alan had found. He examined it, noting that this 'new' component had been used recently. He looked back at his brother. "We've been conned…"

* * *

Up in the lounge, Joe stretched and put his feet on the coffee table. A scowl from Mrs Tracy caused him to place them back on the floor. 

"Thank you, Kyrano," Ned accepted the cup of coffee and took a sip. "This is great!"

The Malaysian inclined his head in acknowledgement and said nothing.

Jeff, seated behind his desk, accepted his customary cup. "I wonder if Alan and Virgil would like one."

"I called them," Kyrano informed him. "There was no reply."

"Maybe that means Virgil has finished," Tin-Tin said hopefully and looked out the window. Her spirits sank when she saw the grey clouds scudding past.

"I hope so," Mrs Tracy said. "He's working too…" Her sentence was cut short when the object of discussion entered the lounge, followed by his youngest brother. Both had faces as dark and thunderous as the sky outside.

"What's wrong, Boys?" Jeff asked.

By way of an answer Virgil and Alan placed three pieces of metal on the coffee table in front of Ned and Joe.

"Virgil! How many times have I told you not to put your greasy things on the furniture!" Mrs Tracy scolded. "Ah… What are they?"

"Perhaps you'd care to answer, Cook!" Virgil demanded.

Ned put on his most ingratiating smile as Joe exclaimed. "You've fixed it! Thank you!"

"Fixed it?" Alan snarled. "Found it more like."

"What?" Jeff had come over to see what all the fuss was about. "What's going on?"

"Alan found this in the hover-plane," Virgil explained.

"In a hidden compartment under the pilot's seat," Alan added.

Jeff turned back to the two unwanted guests. "Well?"

"Well…" Joe wasn't known for thinking fast on his feet.

Ned was, "You were snooping through our things!"

"Yeah," Alan was still snarling. "Just like you're planning to do with ours…"

"Alan!" Jeff snapped before turning back to the two 'guests'. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

Ned shrugged. "I'll have to have words with the engineer when I get back to…"

"Are you trying to tell us that you know nothing about this?" Virgil scoffed.

Jeff picked up the complete component and examined it. "This has been recently used," he said, to a background accompaniment of tutting from his mother at the state of affairs… and her coffee table. "How badly damaged was this…" he picked up half of the broken unit, "… when you started working on it, Virgil?"

"Bad enough that they would have been haemorrhaging fuel," Virgil told him. "Look at how clean the cut is. They can't have been using it for much further than 500 kilometres."

"From around about the Su'an Islands then?" Jeff stated

"That's what I think."

"Some crackpot must have swapped those parts over when we landed there," Joe ventured gamely.

"And left the original hidden in your hover-plane?" Jeff gave him a look that had squashed many an employee… and errant son. "You're also forgetting the fact that they're uninhabited. Who would have replaced it? Seals? Castaways?"

Joe shrugged. "Maybe."

Jeff took a step closer. Now he was towering over the pair of them. From their position on the couch both Ned and Joe were getting a good impression of just how imposing Jeff Tracy could be. "'Gentlemen'," and his quiet voice belied his anger. "Would you care to explain your actions?"

Joe looked at Ned. Ned looked at Jeff Tracy and then stood so he was able to stare him in the eye. "All right! I'll admit that we thought up that little scheme to buy some time with Gordon, or to at least find a little bit more about him. We weren't banking on being trapped by a cyclone."

"I'll bet," Alan growled.

"So you decided to take advantage of our hospitality, while you tried to get your story?" Jeff asked.

Ned's answer was blunt. "Yes! We didn't know about the falling out you'd had with Gordon."

There was a slight moan from Grandma, and the rest of the family looked at each other in various states of confusion.

Jeff didn't bat an eyelid. "My relationship with my sons is none of your business, nor is it the business of anyone outside of this family."

"So you are not prepared to discuss what happened?"

"No."

"Okay." Ned shrugged and sat down again. He looked back up at Jeff with a sardonic grin on his face. "So now what are you going to do? Somehow I don't think that Jeff Tracy, the great philanthropist, is likely to send us out into that cyclone...?"

_To be continued…_


	5. Day One: Something Fishy

_Sorry this is two days late. Not only would fanfiction. net not send alerts, not only was it NOT sending reviews to my email address (most distressing to start uploading a new story and then think that no one likes it), but this site hasn't let me log on for 48 hours, instead of the three it said it was going to be out of action.__ Don't worry, I have completed 'Cook's Tour'__ (apart from a little proof reading) and intend to post a chapter each day, fanfiction. net and circumstances permitting._

:-)

_Purupuss _

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**Four: Day One – Something Fishy**

Gordon and Scott were in their communal living area playing a listless game of chess.

"I still can't believe that Grandma lied," Scott commented as he moved his knight.

Gordon chuckled. "I would have loved to have seen Virgil and Alan's faces when they heard I'd been 'disowned'."

"It's not funny, Gordon."

"Yes it is. Can you imagine Dad getting that wild with any of us that he'd cut us adrift?"

"It's not right!" Scott protested. "Grandma lied to that creep. She's never lied in her life! She's drummed into us that honesty is always the best policy, and here she is having to tell a lie…! For us!"

"It must have been a good one if Cook believed her."

"It's not right," Scott growled. "You should know that, Gordon."

"I never said it was." Then Gordon chuckled again. "I do appreciate you going out to look for me. That's real brotherly love. Searching high and low… Going against our father's wishes…"

"This is not funny!"

"Now, that's where I disagree with you. It's a very funny way you're playing this game. You can't move a rook in that direction!"

"What?" Scott looked at the board. "Oh." He replaced the rook and shifted his bishop.

Gordon took one of Scott's pawns. "I think there's a lot of humour to found in this situation," he continued on. "I think it's funny that Virgil was so careful in scanning that part, only for Alan to find the original in the plane. That's priceless."

"That's not funny," Scott reiterated. "It's serious."

"Scott! If I don't find some humour in all this, I'm going to go crazy knowing that it's because of me everything we've worked for has been jeopardised. Now lighten up and make your move."

"It's not right," Scott mumbled under his breath, ignoring the game board.

"I agree it's not right. Now concentrate on the game!"

"But it's not! Just like it's not right that we're stuck down here, while…"

"Are you going to make a move or not?" Gordon interrupted.

"Yeah, okay…" Muttering something about nosey, selfish reporters not leaving honest folks alone, Scott made his move. "The sooner those two leave Tracy Isla…"

"What did you say?"

Scott looked at Gordon. All the joviality had drained out of his brother's face; in fact he was looking pale. "Are you all right?"

"Tracii!"

"What?"

"Tracey!"

"Who? Us?"

"No. Not us. With an E."

"Who?"

"I forgot her!"

"Who's Tracey, Gordon?" Scott watched in concern as his chess partner jumped out of his chair and raced into his sleeping quarters. "Gordon? Who's Tracey?" he asked as he followed.

"She's pregnant… I promised I'd be with her when the babies were due… How could I have forgotten…?" Gordon was standing in the middle of his room looking extremely flustered.

"So? Who is she and what's that got to do with you?"

"It's got a lot to do with me!" Gordon pounded his forehead with the flat of his hand. "Think, Gordon, think," he muttered. "What do you need?"

"Why isn't the father looking out for her?"

"He'd probably eat the babies."

"Gordon, calm down, there's no way you can go to her now, not while we're in the middle of a cyclone."

"But I promised her, Scott."

"Very noble I'm sure, but she'll have to get along without you. I don't know why you're so uptight about this…"

"I'm the one who got her pregnant!"

Usually cool, in control and unflappable, for once in his life Scott Tracy was dumbstruck.

"Water," Gordon was muttering. "I'll need clean water. What else? I've had no experience with this!"

'_You and me both,_' Scott thought. "Gordon?" he waited for a response, but none seemed to be forthcoming. "Gordon!"

Gordon looked at him as if he'd just woken from a dream. "What?"

"You did what?"

"I did what, when?"

"Gordon!" Scott grabbed him by the shoulders. "Calm down. Take a deep breath." He made sure his brother had obeyed the instruction and then steered him to the edge of the bed where he forced him to sit down. "Think about it. We're in the middle of a cyclone. There's no way you can get to this girl."

"Scott?"

"Where is she, anyway?" Scott maintained a tight grip of Gordon's shoulders.

"Who?"

"Tracey."

"In my room. I told her she could have her babies in there?"

"Your room…?" Scott was beginning to think that he was losing all links with sanity. "Babies? How many is she expecting?"

"I don't know. It could be anything between one and a couple of hundred, but I'm picking no more than five."

Scott shook his head to try and clear it. "Gordon," he said patiently. "Let's start again. What is Tracey?"

"A Plectroglyphididodon Tracii."

"Gordon," Scott said again. "I'm a simple flyboy with his head in the clouds. Bringing it down to the most basic, easy to understand, monosyllabic word you can think of, what is a Plectfidwhatever Tracii?"

Gordon looked at him as if he were stupid. "A fish."

Scott released his grip. "You're getting uptight over a fish?"

"Not just any fish! A Plectroglyphidido…"

"…Tracii. I know. What's so special about a Plec… Tracey?"

"It's a species of fish that is indigenous to the waters around Tracy Island. They're unique! I'm pretty sure that they are one of the few species of fish that don't lay eggs. Instead the mother gestates them inside her, and then gives birth to live young. I know we do all we can to minimise environmental damage, but I'm worried that if something went haywire we could wipe out the entire species! I've been trying for months to breed them and I think I've finally succeeded!"

"Congratulations. Now why do you have to risk Cook and Co seeing you just to take care of a goldfish?"

"They're not gold. They're grey."

"What are you planning to do? Hold its fin? Tell it how to breathe?"

"Don't be silly, Scott. I've got to put her into her breeding tank."

"Why?"

"Because I'm worried that the adult Plectroglyphididodon Tracii," (Scott had to admire the way the words tripped easily off his brother's tongue), "will eat the young."

"Why would they do that?"

"Space. There's plenty of room for the group that's already in there, but add a few more bodies and things could get a bit crowded."

"What would you have done if we were out on a rescue?" Scott asked.

"Accepted it as a part of being International Rescue. But we're not on a rescue! I'm only a few metres away!"

"And it may as well be the other side of the world," Scott growled. "You're not leaving here. Why not get Virgil or Alan to shift her?"

"Alan! He'd probably try to feed them to that alligator of his."

"Virgil wouldn't."

"I know. But he won't know which one she is. They all look alike to the untrained eye. I'd be happier doing this myself."

"Well, you're not going out there! You'll just have to hope that she hangs on to them until the cyclone's blown over and Cook's gone!"

"Don't be mean! How would you feel if you were a fish and you were pregnant?"

"I don't think either situation is likely to happen."

"Please, Scott," Gordon fixed his big brother with his most beseeching expression; one that had gained him many treats and punishment reprieves over the years.

"Don't think that face is going to soften me up now. You're too old…"

"You know I can do this without even Dad and Grandma knowing I went up there."

Scott wavered. "Are you sure?"

Gordon nodded. "Don't worry. I know every nook and cranny in this place. Cook doesn't. If I can sneak round without you guys seeing me, I sure as heck can hide from him."

"The worrying thing about that statement is that I have no doubt that it's true. But you're not talking about playing one of your practical jokes. The safety of the family… Heck we're not only talking about the family, we're talking the safety of the world…"

"Don't exaggerate, Scott."

"I'm not! You know what could happen if our equipment…"

"…Fell into the wrong hands. I know, I know. I helped write the manual. But the Plectroglyphididodon Tracii's whole world is this one little bit of ocean. If we do something wrong, even International Rescue won't be able to save them. Unless I can get a breeding population established elsewhere. Please, Scott…"

Scott shook his head in bemusement. "I hate to think what you'd be like if it was your kid about to be born. What were you like when you spent that year under water?"

Gordon gave a sheepish grin. "They called me 'The Gord-father' because I took a personal interest in every species we bred… Once we were treated to seeing some coral spawning… Have you ever seen that!" his eyes were shining.

"Nope."

"Boy, you've missed something! Anyway, one of the project's big-wigs was visiting us that day. I had to choose between doing my job and showing him around, or watching one of the marvels of the universe…"

"And?" Scott asked, already knowing the answer.

"And… The coral won."

"And you lost?"

Gordon shrugged. "Hey, it was only one month's pay and it wasn't as though there was anywhere I could go to spend it."

"You're a character, Gordon." Scott sighed. "Okay, you win…" He sat on the other bed and looked at his watch. "We're going to need help with this."

* * *

Alan and Virgil had been given the unenviable task of keeping the island's two guests occupied and out of everyone else's hair. They'd decided that their best plan of attack was to shut the pair of them up in the theatre and let them have the run of the family's movie collection. 

Virgil was in the process of explaining the computer's selection system when both his, and Alan's, watches started beeping.

"Is that the time?" Virgil tried to keep his voice natural. "I promised Brains I'd give him a hand with… some stuff. But that can wait ten minutes. Do you want to go and do whatever it is you're supposed to be doing, Alan?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, Virg. I, uh, promised Kyrano I'd give him a hand in his greenhouse, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting. Something to do with the angle of the moon and the plants I think."

"Well you'd better go… We'll see you later," Virgil said awkwardly, "since he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Okay. See you guys later."

"It seems like even on a tropical paradise you're tied down to the tyranny of time," Ned said, sounding cheerful at the thought that he didn't have to be anywhere at this moment.

"Yes… I guess we are," Alan replied.

"You'd better go, Alan," Virgil said.

Alan escaped the theatre and ran down the hallway until he thought he was out of earshot. "What can I do for you, Scott?"

"Were both you and Virgil with Cook and Whatsisname?"

"Joe? Yeah. I don't think he's got a surname. Everyone seems to call him Joe."

"Never mind that, Alan. Where are they now?"

Alan looked up as Virgil joined him. "In the theatre."

Virgil nodded his agreement. "I left them watching a three hour movie."

"Good. That'll keep them occupied."

"Why?"

"Gordon's got a… Gordon's got something important he's got to do in his room. Don't ask what, you won't believe me. I can't believe I'm even agreeing to help him."

"I really appreciate this, Scott," they heard Gordon's voice in the background.

"Gordon, for a time there I thought you were about to be disowned for real. I almost wish you would be!"

* * *

Ned and Joe had watched the movie for ten minutes before Ned spoke. "You know. This'd be even better if we had some company." 

"Who'd you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of inviting young Tin-Tin."

Joe chuckled. "You're a dirty old man, Ned."

Ned winked. "I'll admit that she's excellent eye-candy, but I was interested in more than her body. She knows what's going on in this household, and knows what Tracy's projects are. I think if we can get her to relax she'll start talking. And then we'll really get to know Jeff Tracy."

"Okay, go get the oriental miss. Do you want me to pause the movie?"

"Nah. I've seen this bit before. The real action doesn't happen until the second half. We should be back by then."

"You don't want me to make myself scarce?"

"I have a feeling that Tin-Tin will feel more relaxed if she doesn't think I'm going to try and make a move on her."

"Do you think anyone has ever tried to make a move on her? Do you think anyone's succeeded?"

"You mean in this household of five eligible young bachelors and one extremely good looking, 'subservient to her masters', young Asian lady? Who knows, Joe? This is an extremely strange set-up. Anything is possible." Ned patted his friend on the shoulder as he walked past. "We'll be back soon. Don't eat all the popcorn."

* * *

"Is it all clear, Brains?" Gordon asked as he cautiously pocked his head into the lab. 

"A-A-All clear, Gordon. So you think you're finally getting somewhere with your P- Plectroglyphididodon population?"

"Yep. I was planning to shift her over yesterday, but with everything that happened I forgot. Would you mind if I grabbed some of your spare stuff? I can't remember what I've left in my room, and I don't want to be out in the open for any longer than necessary."

Brains was willing to agree to the request. "O-Of course. Help yourself."

"Thanks." Gordon started gathering together a collection of implements. "I'll leave what I don't use by the tank. If you need it you can nip in and get it."

"F-Fine. Do you want me to check the way's c-clear?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

Brains chuckled. "Just call me s-secret agent 'Double O 73939133'."

"Huh? Why that number?" Gordon felt the urge to scratch his head, but was unable to because his hands were full.

"It's my f-favourite. It's the largest prime number in which a-all the initial segments of the decimal expansion are also p-prime numbers."

"Meaning?"

"S-Seven is a prime number. 73 is a prime number. 739 is a p-prime number and so on." Brains walked to the door and opened cautiously. When he was sure that no one was lurking about just outside the lab, he ventured further into the hallway. "All clear, Gordon."

"Thanks." Clutching his booty, and taking advantage of every bit of cover he knew of, Gordon raced to his bedroom. Once inside he slid the door shut behind him and 'dropped' the lab gear onto his bed. Then he opened out a panel in the window seat that sat in the corner of his room.

At last he felt safe.

When Jeff Tracy was in the process of designing the plans for his Villa he'd ensured that every member of the household had a private space of identical dimensions. It was then left to each individual to divide and decorate his, or her, own space as they saw fit.

Gordon had left his private quarters as a large open plan environment. Along one neat and tidy wall was a myriad of aquariums filled with an amazing variety of different species of fish. Against the opposite wall was his bed. The rest of the room was filled with what his brothers tended to call rubbish.

When designing his room, Gordon had made one significant difference to the original layout. He'd built a padded window-seat so that he could sit and look out over the Pacific's waters. If at anytime he couldn't be in the pool or ocean, then this was the place he'd come to find peace. The padded seat on top was hinged, thereby allowing access to a storage trunk underneath. A few of Gordon's belongings, including a plate that he'd forgotten to take back to the kitchen, had been thrown carelessly into the compartment.

Being the practical joker in a family with four brothers (who didn't always appreciate the joke), meant that it was sometimes necessary to have a foolproof hiding place. At the time that the house was being wired up, Gordon had asked if the wires from his automatic sliding door could be extended to the general vicinity of the window. His excuse was that from his vantage-point overlooking the waters, he could control whether or not he was disturbed. Everyone doubted his excuse, but in time everyone forgot about those mystery wires and Gordon was able to realise his grand plan.

Gordon's plan, and to date it had worked well, was to have a secret compartment in the window seat. Hidden beneath a false bottom in the storage trunk, there was enough room for him to curl up in relative comfort. When the front panel of the seat was open (it swung downwards to ensure easy access) the main door to the room was locked shut. When the secret panel was fully shut the door locking mechanism opened and a (usually angry) brother would storm in, only to find the room devoid of Gordon.

A viewing slot in the side panel, camouflaged with material, allowed Gordon to watch in amused safety as the furious brother would conduct a futile search of the room. This was low-tech design in a high-tech household and it worked perfectly.

Gordon's hideaway had been installed as a laugh. Now it potentially had a more serious purpose.

"Hello, Darling," he cooed to the Plectroglyphididodon Tracii that was partially concealed in the marine plants that made up her home. "So you haven't had your babies yet?"

'Tracey' eyed him up and slid further backwards into the leafy protection.

"Let's get your limousine ready shall we?" he asked as he placed a plastic bag in a large open mouthed beaker. Then, after pulling the bag's opening over the lip of the container so that the bag would remain open without collapsing, he partially filled it with water. As he allowed the water to reach room temperature, he took the time to inspect and feed his other charges.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said soothingly as he gently coaxed 'Tracey' into a small jar. "Just relax, Honey, and I'll pop you in here." He placed her, still in the jar, into the water-filled plastic bag. "Now we'll leave you there for a minute until the water temperature's equalised. Okay?"

'Tracey' turned her back on him.

"What else are we going to need?" Gordon busied himself for the next couple of minutes, gathering various bits and pieces such as food and an oxygen pump. "Okay, I think that's everything," he said to himself as he did a mental inventory. He tested the water. "Nope, not quite ready."

'Tracey' swam sedately in circles inside her jar.

Something shiny caught Gordon's eye. He still got the same sense of exhilaration and disbelief every time he looked at the gold medal mounted proudly on the wall. Smiling to himself, he gave it a quick polish with his sleeve before turning back to the Plectroglyphididodon Tracii. "Come on, Honey. Out you pop." He slowly tipped the jar over on its side and 'Tracey' swam out. Then he removed the dripping wet jar and placed it on the table…

* * *

Ned Cook wasn't having much luck finding Tin-Tin. He supposed that she could be in the lab, or else holed up in her room, both of which presented problems. He didn't know where the lab was and didn't know which room was hers. To cap it all he suddenly realised that he was lost in the rabbit warren that made up the Tracy Villa. After following several passageways he stumbled across one that appeared to connect the family's sleeping quarters. Figuring he must be close to Tin-Tin he wandered along, examining the doors and trying to find something that would indicate that which was her room. Each door, he realised, had a muted identifying pattern inlaid into the wood. A rocket, some stars, a plane, a car, some musical notes, a fish… 

A fish?

He examined the door with the marine motif more closely, before looking about to see if anyone was watching him…

* * *

A rattle at his door placed Gordon at high alert. Leaving 'Tracey' exposed in her open topped bag he dove into his hiding place and pulled the panel shut. 

Another rattle at the door and it slid open to reveal Ned Cook. The reporter peered cautiously inside, took a step into the room and then re-locked the door behind him. "Right, Gordon," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see what you've got."

Gordon watched in mounting anger as his private things were rummaged through.

Ned was methodical. He started with Gordon's drawers. "Some things gone, but not a lot," he mused out loud. "You left in a hurry, all right." Then he turned his attention to the bed and picked up a few of the items that Gordon had borrowed from Brains. "I wonder what these are used for."

'_Mind your own business,_' Gordon thought.

Ned worked his way through the room, turning over any little scrap that he though might give him the juicy bit of information that he required. He came to the window seat. "Nice view… If you could see through the rain… I wonder…"

Gordon held his breath as heard the lid above him open and the interloper push a few things about. "You're a slob, Gordon Tracy." The lid was dropped shut.

"_And you're a nosy... Hey! Get your hands off that!_"

Ned had Gordon's medal in his hands. He stared at it and turned it over to read the inscription on the back. "Why'd you leave this, Gordon? Surely this is the symbol of what you've achieved…? And what your father despised about you."

Gordon bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the man.

Ned let the medal drop back against the wall with a clunk and then turned back to take in the surroundings. "It's obvious what the marine world means to you, Gordon. Jeff Tracy has a stronger character than I gave him credit for if he managed to hide away his disappointment in you away for all these years." He picked up a yellow plastic fish that was residing on a small shelf above the medal and examined it. "Looks like you came out of a cereal packet. I wonder what your significance is?" He replaced it and looked about the room again.

Gordon almost relaxed as he watched Cook turn on his heel and head towards the exit.

Ned stopped and turned back to the aquariums. He admired each one's occupants briefly before stopping by the table where Gordon had been transferring 'Tracey'. He picked up the jar she'd been temporarily swimming in. "Someone's been here recently." He looked around as if searching for that mystery person, his eyes resting for what seemed to be an unnatural length of time on Gordon's hiding place.

Yet again Gordon held his breath.

Ned turned back to the table. "Nice fishy," he said as he bent over 'Tracey' and used his finger to splash the water in her bag.

Gordon found himself wishing that 'Tracey' was a piranha and not just a Plectroglyphididodon Tracii. He watched as Ned, after making sure that all was clear, finally left his room. He then gave the reporter a full minute to get clear, before he undid the bolt and unfurled himself from inside his window seat. He stretched to get the kinks out and then hurried over to 'Tracey'. "Are you okay, Honey? Did that nasty man give you a fright…? He gave me one," he added as he switched on his wristwatch communicator.

* * *

Alan heard the familiar sound and responded with a smile. "All done, Gordon?" 

"Almost. No thanks to you!"

"Huh?" confused by his brother's angry expression and tone, Alan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Ned Cook's just been nosing around my room."

"What!"

"I'm almost ready to leave. How about checking it's safe this time?"

"But… but it was last time," Alan stuttered. "I thought…"

"Well you thought wrong!"

"Did he see you?"

"Of course not. Now go make sure he still doesn't see me. Beep me when it's safe."

"Okay." Bemused Alan signed off. He'd taken two steps when he bumped into Virgil, who was carrying his painting gear. "I thought you said Cook was happily watching the movie."

"He was."

"Gor… Leroy…" Alan switched to Gordon's alias. One they would use whenever they were on a rescue with a possibility of being recognised. "…Says Cook's just been searching his room."

Virgil's mouth dropped open. "Did Cook see…?

"Apparently not. But he's ready to head back again. Let's make sure he's not intercepted."

* * *

As he cooled his heels, Gordon took his Olympic gold medal off the wall and inspected it for damage. Then, using the cloth reserved exclusively for this purpose, he gave it a polish. "That's better," he said as he hung it back up. He gave the plastic fish a brief pat.

* * *

Joe looked away from the giant screen when Ned entered the theatre. "You've almost missed the good bit. Where's Tin-Tin?" 

"I couldn't find her. This place is a maze!" Ned slipped into the seat beside Joe. "I'll tell you what I did find though…"

Joe paused the movie. "Well? Don't keep me in suspense."

"Gordon's room."

"You searched it, of course?"

"Of course." Ned produced his recording device. "I've made a few notes. I'd say he left in a mighty hurry…" He popped some popcorn into his mouth. "He left his Olympic medal behind."

"He did what? He must have been in a rage to forget that!"

"That's what I think." Ned munched reflectively. "It's a strange room. It's a total mess except for this one wall which is covered in aquariums. Each of them is spotless. Someone's been keeping an eye on things too."

"The fish have all been fed?"

"Not only that, but one of them had recently been transferred. It was still in a plastic bag and the jar that'd been used was wet. I wonder who it is that's prepared to go against Jeff Tracy's wishes." Ned gave a shudder. "You want to know something creepy? I could almost believe that whoever was caring for Gordon's fish was still in that room. I could almost sense them watching me..."

"It was probably all the fish giving you the once over," Joe suggested.

"Mmn, maybe… Like I said, it's a strange room."

"Was there anywhere anyone could have hidden?"

Ned shook his head. "No."

"Security camera?"

Ned frowned. "Now that's a possibility I hadn't thought of. But in a bedroom?"

"Maybe Tracy likes to keep a 'paternal' eye on his sons?"

"Maybe."

"Find anything else of interest?"

The door slid open with a bang, heralding the slightly breathless arrival of Alan and Virgil. They looked at the two startled faces who were staring at them. "Uh, we were just checking up on you…" Alan said. "…Uh… To see that you were all right! Do you need anything? More popcorn?"

"Chocolate bar?" Virgil suggested.

"A drink?"

"Another movie?"

"No," Joe said. "We haven't finished this one yet."

"Ah," Virgil said. "Good… " Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alan press a button on his watch.

"Where are you up to?" Alan asked.

"The island's just been invaded," Joe offered. "The people who are hiding are about to be discovered."

"This is a good bit," Virgil said. "I think I'll stay for this bit. Do you want to stay for… uh… this bit, Alan?"

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "I think I might stay for this… bit." He cringed.

* * *

"I'd like to get my hands on him! I'd give him slob! I'd give him despised!" 

"Huh?" Scott, who'd spent the entire time fretting over what Gordon was doing, took a moment to look at 'Tracey', before giving his, obviously angry, brother his full attention. "What are you going on about?"

"Cook!"

"What about him?"

"He was in my room!"

"What! When!"

"Now! While I was in there!"

"Gordon! Did he see you?"

"No, of course not!" Gordon paced the length of the room. "The creep had the cheek to call me a slob!" He reversed his course.

Scott decided that now was not the time to say 'if the cap fits…'

"He made some comment about Dad despising me!"

"Calm down, Gordon. You know that's not true. Who was he talking to?"

"No one! Himself!"

Scott's worry meter went up a notch. "Are you sure he didn't know you were there?"

"I'm telling he didn't! No one ever finds me in my… room!"

"True," Scott agreed.

"He was talking to himself. Giving a kind of running commentary."

"Running commentary? Do you think he had a recorder with him?"

"I don't know. What I do know is; he put his greasy mitts all over my medal!"

"Ah." Everyone in the household knew that, except when explicit permission was given, Gordon's Olympic gold was off limits. Scott knew that Ned Cook handling Gordon's most prized possession would not have gone down well with his brother.

"And you two were no use!" Gordon stormed, pointing a finger at Virgil and Alan who'd abandoned the theatre again. "I thought you said he was watching a movie!"

"He was," Virgil said. "He and Joe seemed to be quite settled."

"I thought so," Alan agreed. "What happened, Gordon?"

Marginally calmer, Gordon recounted the events of a few moments ago.

"You went up there for a fish?" Alan asked.

"You're surprised?" Virgil responded. "What did you want us to do, Gordon? Tie Ned and Joe up?"

"It'd have been a start!"

"You risked exposure for a fish!" Alan repeated, still trying to get his head around the fact. "Dad's going to go crazy when he finds out!"

"He's not going to find out, Alan," Scott said. "Look, I know we've all had a bit of a scare, but it's okay. Neither Cook nor anyone else saw Gordon, so our secret's still safe, and neither of us will have to go up there again until they've gone. That's all that matters. Now, Gordon, don't you want to put 'Tracey' into something a bit more substantial than a plastic bag?"

"Tracey?" Virgil asked.

"The fish."

Virgil shook his head in wonderment.

"She's pregnant," Scott offered.

"Ah," Alan said. "Now it all makes sense."

"It does?" Virgil asked.

"No, but then nothing else does either."

Gordon cursed.

"Language," Scott reprimanded.

"I left all the gear in my room. I was in such a bad mood I didn't think of taking it."

"Do you want us to…?" Virgil began.

"No!" Gordon snapped. "I'll get Brains to. At least he's careful!"

* * *

Brains, as requested, had gone into Gordon's room to retrieve the missing items. He took a moment to fire up Gordon's computer and found himself engrossed in the notes Gordon had made on the Plectroglyphididodon population. "I-Interesting… Very interesting… G-Good work, Gordon," he said in approval, before switching the computer off again. Then, after gathering the necessary paraphernalia into his arms, he walked out the door... straight into Ned Cook and Joe. 

Brains blinked at the two men. "Hello?"

"Hello… ah… 'Brains'?" Ned said.

"I-I'm sorry," Brains looked between the two men. "I-I don't think we've been introduced."

"We met yesterday," Joe told him. "We had dinner together last night."

Brains frowned in bemusement. "Just the three of us?"

"No. The Tracys were there too. I'm Ned and this is Joe. Remember?" Ned said.

"Ohhh," Brains appeared to understand. "Wh-Where did we go?"

"Nowhere. There's a cyclone howling outside at the moment. Joe and I came here to interview Gordon and we've been trapped by Cyclone Sylvia."

"Ah," Brains nodded. "Did you and G-Gordon have a good i-interview?"

"No. He's not here. He's left home," Joe tried to be patient.

"G-Gordon's left home? Oh dear! Does M-Mr Tracy know?"

"I think he's got a pretty good idea," Ned admitted.

"Then why are you st-st-still here?"

"Because we can't leave because of Cyclone Sylvia," Ned was starting to lose patience.

"Cyclone! Dear me! No one mentioned a cyclone! We'd better st-stop Gordon before he goes out into the cyclone!"

"He's gone, Brains. Apparently he left days ago!"

"Who's g-gone?"

"Gordon."

"Gordon's g-gone? Where?"

"Look," Ned's patience had finally run out. "Why don't you ask one of the Tracys all about it? I'm sure they'll be able to explain it to you better than we can."

Brains beamed at him. "Wh-What a wonderful idea! I'll go ask them now, sh-shall I? And then maybe the three of us c-can go out to dinner."

"Yeah. Maybe we'll do that. C'mon, Joe. Let's go see where everyone's hiding."

"Give my b-best to Sylvia!" Brains called after them.

He was still chuckling when he handed over the aquarium equipment to Gordon.

"What are you laughing about?" Alan asked him.

Brains gave the four Tracy boys a rundown of his conversation with Ned and Joe. "Y-You know? Sometimes there's a-advantages to looking like the archetypical absentminded professor…"

_To be continued…_


	6. Day Two: Where There's Smoke

**Five: Day Two – Where There's Smoke?**

In the kitchen Grandma Tracy marked the second day of their incarceration by cyclone off the calendar and reflected that she was glad that if Cyclone Sylvia had to decide to intrude on their home, at least she'd waited until after Gordon's birthday. Now her only concern was that, according to John's last reports, Sylvia appeared to have stalled over the island. "I hope you're gone before Alan's birthday arrives," she told the unheeding cyclone.

Sylvia's only response was to throw something against the side of the house.

Grandma picked up a meal tray and walked down the passageways to the lab, blissfully unaware that she was being watched.

"Two plates," Ned Cook said thoughtfully as he peered out from his hiding place. "Who for?"

"Maybe it's for the nutty professor. Main course and dessert," Joe suggested.

"On the same sized plates?" Ned scoffed. "And the only cutlery I saw was two sets of knives and forks."

"The way that guy's away with the fairies he might need two sets to himself," Joe hypothesised. "So that when he loses one set, he's still got the other."

Ned wasn't satisfied with that solution.

Joe kept on guessing. "Maybe the old lady's going to have dinner with him?"

"And not with her family?"

"He seems to be so engrossed in his work that maybe he forgets to eat. Maybe she's going to make sure the food isn't wasted."

"Somehow I can't buy that," Ned said. "I think someone else must be in the lab. But who? We haven't seen anyone else walk past."

"Tin-Tin? She's been avoiding us. Maybe she knows another way in there..."

"A good theory," Ned accepted. "Except that no one knows we're hiding here. Something doesn't feel right about all this. Just who are those plates for…?"

* * *

"How's it going, Brains?" Grandma asked.

Brains looked up from his latest experiment. "It's going v-very well, Mrs Tracy." He noticed the tray. "Dinner time?"

"Yes. I'm off to the zoo to feed the animals."

Brains chuckled. "So that's the g-growling sounds I heard from down there. M-Must have been Scott's stomach."

"I'll buzz you when I'm ready to come out again."

"Good. I-I'll open the door when it's all clear."

"It seems so silly to have to take these precautions in our own home. If only those men hadn't come here!"

Brains agreed. "I haven't b-been disturbed by our 'f-friends' so far. They th-think I'm quite mad. But it's better to be safe than sorry."

"Your dinner will be ready as soon as I get back, Brains."

"Th-Thank you, Mrs Tracy." Brains pushed the button that opened the secret door to the bunkers and waited for his elderly friend to walk through before shutting it behind her. Then he returned to his work. He'd no sooner picked up his pencil when he was interrupted again.

It was Ned and Joe. "Hi, Brains."

Brains pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "Wh-Wh-What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"We saw Mrs Tracy come in here," Joe said.

"Yes," Ned agreed. "She had her hands full and we thought she might appreciate some assistance."

"M-Mrs Tracy came in here?" Brains queried.

"Yes," Joe nodded. "Carrying a tray with two covered plates."

"Carrying a t-t-tray?"

"Yes," Joe said again.

"Where is she?" Ned asked, looking around.

"I-I-I d-d-don't know," Brains stammered. He opened a cupboard door. "Sh-She's not in here," he mumbled into the assorted equipment that was stored there.

"We're sure we saw her come in here," Ned insisted.

"Carrying food," Joe confirmed.

"M-Mrs Tracy brought me dinner? Th-That's very nice of her." Brains started looking around, lifting up a variety of implements. "I wonder where she left it…" He opened an incubator and looked inside. "No."

"What I'm wondering," Ned began, "is where she's gone now."

"P-Probably back to the kitchen," Brains said to the beakers in another cupboard.

"No. She never came out of this room," Joe insisted.

Brains opened another incubator. "Ah! H-Here it is!" he said triumphantly, pulling out a large Petri dish covered in what looked like mouldy cheese. He stared at it closely. "No. Th-That's my antibiotic research," he muttered, placing the dish carefully back into the incubator.

"She's an old lady," Ned reminded him. "She can't just disappear into thin air."

"Sh-She's very nimble for her age," Brains told him. "You should see her go, ah, snorkelling…"

"Mrs Tracy goes snorkelling?" Joe asked in amazement.

"Yes!" Brains nodded enthusiastically. "And abseiling…" Then he frowned. "No," he amended. "I was th-thinking about Tin-Tin."

Ned groaned.

* * *

"Hello, Boys," Grandma said cheerfully.

"An angel has come down from on high, bringing us glad tidings," Gordon greeted her, relieving her of the tray. "And good food… Why didn't you tell us you were bringing this down? We would have come up and got it."

"I wanted to see how you boys were getting on."

"Apart from having to share quarters with ol' grumble guts over there," Gordon indicated Scott who was setting the table, "fine."

"Grandma!" Scott admonished. "You shouldn't have carried that all the way down here. One of us could have come up and got it."

"I've just told her that!"

"Do you boys need anything?"

"A little sunshine, some fresh air, and a chance to stretch our legs would be nice," Gordon suggested.

"I think we'd all appreciate that at the moment, Honey."

Scott had removed the covers off one of the plates and was savouring the aroma. "This'll do, Grandma."

"How's things topside?" Gordon asked pulling up an extra chair and holding it out for his grandmother.

"You sit down and have your dinner while it's still hot!" she instructed as she accepted the seat. She waited until both grandsons were enjoying their meal. "Now what can I tell you? The cyclone's stalled…"

Scott grunted his displeasure at the news.

Gordon scooped some carrots into his mouth and munched away happily.

"… Everyone's on edge because of those two reporters…"

"We should have told them to turn around and crawl back into whatever hole it was they came out of," Scott growled.

He received a scolding from his Grandmother. "Now, Scott! You know we couldn't do that."

"Ignore him," Gordon suggested. "He's been in a foul mood since we got down here. What else can you tell us?"

"Tin-Tin's trying to avoid the pair of them. She's frightened that she's going to say something she shouldn't."

"She wouldn't do that," Gordon said confidently.

"I'm sure she wouldn't too," Grandma admitted. "But she's working herself up into a nervous mess over it… Kyrano's fretting because he's worried about his glasshouses and his plants."

"If this cyclone's going to be as bad as we think," Scott reached for a glass of fruit juice, "we're going to have to repair more than the glasshouses."

"I know, but you know how that poor man cares for his plants."

"Like his children." Gordon was chasing some peas around the plate.

"Your father's practically locked himself away in his study and left your brothers to entertain our 'guests'."

"They're not doing a good job of it," Gordon mumbled through the peas, and received a warning glare from Scott.

"What's that, Darling? Don't talk with food in your mouth."

Gordon swallowed. "Nothing, Grandma. Go on."

Grandma Tracy watched her grandsons enjoy their meal for a moment. "If we get a storm surge," she asked, twisting her apron around her wizened hands, "will you boys be all right down here? There's no way the water can get in, is there? You are underground."

Scott shook his head. "We'll be all right. All the doors have watertight seals and the walls are solid granite."

"I still worry about you."

Gordon patted her hand. "Don't. We're fine." He pushed his plate away. "And now I'm full. That was wonderful, thank you, Grandma. I said you were an angel."

"Thank you, Darling. And now I'd better get back upstairs and feed your father and brothers…"

* * *

Brains pretended to have forgotten that he was looking for his mythical dinner. "How's your friend S-Sylvia?" he asked.

Joe frowned. "Sylvia?"

"He means the cyclone." Ned turned from Joe back to Brains. "Sylvia is not our friend. Sylvia is the name they have given the cyclone," he explained.

"Oh!" The frown of bemusement on Brains' face cleared, only to be replaced by another. "What cyclone?"

"The one outside."

"Then wh-who is your friend."

"We don't have one," Joe told him.

'_Especially here._' Brains thought uncharitably.

"Sylvia has trapped us here on Tracy Island," Ned was informing him. "We can't leave for the rain and high winds."

"Ahhh." Brains appeared to understand. "Has anyone explained to you what to do if there is a s-s-storm s-s-surge?"

"Several people, several times," Ned said. "It's almost as if everyone's trying to hammer it home into our skulls."

"Do you w-want me to explain it again?"

"No!" Ned and Joe chorused.

"You kn-know to follow instructions?"

"Yes!"

"You kn-know where the storm rooms are?"

"Yes!"

"You kn-know to go there immediately?"

"Yes!" the two reporters repeated.

A light appeared on Brains' computer. As he saw it the barest flicker of concern crossed his face. "Ah. My experiment is complete!"

"Come on, Joe," Ned said. "We're interrupting Brains in his work," he tried, and failed, to sound apologetic. "Let's go."

Glad to escape the talkative clutches of the mad scientist, they made their escape.

Brains waited until he was sure they'd gone and then locked the door to the laboratory. Only then did he let Mrs Tracy out through the secret door.

"Did you have visitors?" she asked.

"Yes… I don't think they'll be b-back in a hurry. I'm sure they think I-I'm a few electrons sh-short of an atom. Put the tray in that, ah, cupboard there and I'll b-bring it out for washing after everyone's gone to bed."

"Thank you, Brains. If you want to wash up, dinner will be served in ten minutes."

"Thank you, Mrs Tracy."

* * *

"Hi, John. Finished dinner?"

"Yep. Cardboard and marbles."

"Cardboard and marbles?" Scott repeated, a puzzled frown on his face.

"A.K.A. overcooked pizza and peas. Now I'm trying to ignore my indigestion by running a few computer tests. What can I do for you?"

"I just needed to talk to someone who's about the same mental age as me."

John chuckled. "What's the matter? Are you getting the 'Big Brother Blues'?"

"If Gordon doesn't quit bugging me he'll be singing the 'Little Brother Lament'!"

John's grin broadened as through the monitor screen he watched his elder brother's scowl deepen. "What's he done this time?"

"He's decided, that since he can't get outside for a swim, he's got to keep his fitness levels up somehow…"

"And you, of all people, are annoyed about that?"

"I wouldn't be, except I'm pretty sure that the real reason why he's chosen these particular exercises is because he knows full well they've got a high irritation quotient."

John placed his clipboard on the console beside him and prepared to give Scott his full attention. "Which exercises?"

"He's worked out that if he follows a particular path through the bunkers then he's walked exactly quarter of a kilometre. Therefore four laps is one kilometre and 40 laps is ten kilometres."

"Fair enough," John said agreeably.

"Not when a lap means hugging whatever piece of furniture it is that I happen to be using at the time," Scott growled.

"And he's done this… how many times?"

"Let's see…" Scott began checking off on his fingers. "I was sitting on the couch reading for the first two kilometres and he'd knock my legs every time he walked past…"

A figure strode purposefully past the video screen. "Hi, John," Gordon called as he casually brushed against Scott.

"Hi, Gordon." John watched as Scott's complexion darkened.

"I decided to try to do some work for the third kilometre," Scott continued on. "So I was sitting at the table. Naturally he has to knock the back of my chair each time he goes past."

"Naturally. Which kilometre is he on at the moment?"

Scott glared at Gordon. "Four point five."

"So that's, what? Another 22 laps?"

A figure strode into camera shot. "Bye, John," Gordon waved cheerily.

"Bye, Gordon," John called back.

"Don't encourage him," Scott snarled.

"Why haven't you sent him on a route march around Thunderbird Two's hangar?"

Scott stared at his brother for a moment as the words sunk home.

"You didn't think of that, did you?" John asked.

"No…" Scott slumped back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm losing it already."

"If you guys are behaving childishly and aren't thinking straight after only two days down there," John asked, "what would we be like if we had to stay cooped up for two years?"

"I don't know, John. And I hope we never have to find out."

"Well, try to keep your head screwed on right long enough to come up with a solution," John advised. "In the meantime don't worry about Gordon. You know he'll get sick of annoying you and will find something else to do soon."

"But that's not all he's been doing!"

"I might have guessed," John sighed. "Tell agony Uncle John."

"If he's not doing those exercises he's swinging his arms about and kind of twisting his back! He says it's to keep his swimming muscles toned."

"Yes…" John said slowly, waiting to hear what was so terrible about this particular activity. "It's not as if he can go outside for a swim. Even if you were upstairs he wouldn't be able to, because of the cyclone. You can't blame him for wanting to do some…"

"You know when he makes his joints pop and crack?" Scott interrupted.

John cringed. "Yes..."

"Well, it's ten times louder down here. It's like being trapped in an iron drum during an artillery round!"

John visibly shuddered. "The very thought puts my teeth on edge," he admitted. "I don't know how he can willingly do that to his body… And you think he's doing these exercises on purpose to annoy you?"

"I'd almost bet on it. And there's another thing…"

"No," John drawled. "What a surprise."

"You know those rails that we put above the doors…?" Scott asked as John nodded. "He's using them for chin up and curl up exercises."

"That's what they're there for…"

"Hi again, John."

"Hi again, Gordon."

Scott glared at his brother's departing back and rubbed his shoulder. "But not while I'm trying to walk through the door! Whose stupid idea was it to put them there in the first place?"

"If I remember rightly, it was yours. 'We've got to utilise every inch of space', you said. 'In case we can't get into the hangars', you said."

Scott ignored the comment. "He says that he's doing that to keep his arm muscles strong for his swimming and his back free from pain."

For the first time, John found something in the conversation to cause him concern. "Pain?"

"He says ever since his accident he's had to do these daily exercises to keep his back mobile."

"But I thought he was completely over that and has had no lasting problems! Does Dad know?"

In the distance Gordon gave a cheerful wave and disappeared out of shot.

"I don't know," Scott admitted. "You know how reluctant Gordon is to talk about his accident and his time in rehabilitation."

"Yes," John nodded. "I know."

"That's what's so galling. He has a sane, logical reason for every annoying thing that he's doing. Reasons that would make me seem churlish if I told him to stop… But I still can't shake the feeling that the real reason why he's doing these exercises is because he wants to tease me and he knows I won't beat the living daylights out of him for doing it!"

John couldn't help it. He laughed. "He's got you sussed, Brother."

"I don't blame him for trying to keep active and maintain his fitness levels, because I know how he feels. He wants to go for a swim and I'd love nothing more than to go for a run around the island, but we can't! It's just not possible…! And he knows what's best for his body. I'm just the poor sucker who's got to listen to it." Scott shook his head ruefully. "I should have gone with the laryngitis option. It would have been less painful!"

John laughed again. "Poor Scott," he teased.

Scott was growling again. "It's all right for you. You don't know what it's like to be trapped in a hermetically sealed cocoon, unable to go outside for some fresh air and to stretch your legs…"

"Excuse me!" John stared at him. "Where do you think I am at the moment?"

"You're…" Scott realised his mistake. "Sorry, John. So you've got some idea… But at least you're not trapped with a madman, and, to a certain extent, you're there willingly. You haven't been forced to stay there because a couple of nosey idiots have decided to invade our home!"

"I'll give you that," John conceded. "And I've been thinking…"

"So? Tell me something new."

"…About your situation and I've come to the conclusion that you two are the worst combination doomed to hide out down there."

"Thanks!"

"Alan and I are both used to being isolated from the outside world, though that wouldn't stop Alan from moaning and griping the entire time…"

"True," Scott agreed. "That would almost be as bad as clicky joints."

"But give me a pile of books and I'd be happy…"

"True," Scott agreed again. "It'd be no trouble being trapped with you, John."

"And Virgil would probably be quite happy painting, or composing…"

"A 'subterranean symphony'?"

John chuckled. "Something like that. At least we could guarantee that you and he wouldn't be at each other's throats within ten minutes of being shut away. You get along so harmoniously that you'd find something you could do together to occupy yourselves. But you and Gordon…" He shook his head. "That's asking for trouble. It wouldn't be so bad if you could run off some of that pent up energy, or work out in the gym… Or if Gordon could go for a swim somewhere…"

"John," Scott pleaded. "Will you stop psychoanalysing us? I'm trapped down here. Gordon's trapped down here. And there's nothing we can do about it except try not to send each other totally around the bend. We've just got to deal with it the best we can."

"Sorry," John apologised. "I got carried away. See, I'm used to being alone. I'm quite happy spending my time thinking about things. I don't have to be doing something every minute of the day like you…"

"John!"

"Sorry," John apologised again. "So… apart from having to deal with noisy joints, how's…"

At that point three things happened almost instantaneously. There was a yell from the vicinity of the kitchen area, a ball of smoke rolled out through the open doorway, and the fire alarm started ringing.

John watched in concern and then with amusement as Scott abandoned the video monitor, grabbed a fire extinguisher and ran for the kitchen, cannoning straight into Gordon who'd casually walked out flapping a cloth.

"What happened?"

"I got bored with walking and I felt like having something for supper, so I thought I'd cook us something to eat." Gordon waved the rather singed cloth in his hand. "I hadn't realised that I'd left this on the element…"

"You were hungry! You hadn't realised…!" Scott's face had turned beet red. "Have you forgotten where we are? We're underground! We could have been asphyxiated!"

"We've got a good ventilation system. And besides it's not a major. I put a lid on the fire and it smothered it! See!" Gordon held out the cloth. "Calm down. Everything's under control. The fire's out."

"That's not the point! The point is that you've behaved irresponsibly…!" Scott thundered.

"Calm down, Scott."

"Calm down! You've endangered our lives! You've put our security at risk! And you're telling me to calm down!"

"Yes," Gordon replied. "Calm down. It's nothing. The emergency's over, no one's been hurt and there's been no real damage done."

* * *

Jeff Tracy had just placed his knife and fork together on his dinner plate when the fire alarm started ringing. As he recognised the siren's distinctive tone he was on his feet and heading for the dinning room door. "Come on!" he commanded his two sons.

Alan and Virgil were already running for the door.

"What is it?" Ned asked. "Fire?"

"Yes," Tin-Tin had paled. "It's down in the… in the lab… I'd better check the sick bay…" She fled before she could be asked any more questions.

Ned and Joe glanced at each other. They didn't need to speak to each other to confirm that here was a bit of excitement they get their teeth into. Maybe this could lead to the news story they were after! They leapt out of their chairs intending to follow the Tracy men.

"Fire!" Grandma exclaimed, panicking slightly. "There's a fire in the house! There's a fire… Oh!" She stopped mid-stride clearly in pain. "My back…"

"Mrs Tracy…" Kyrano sprang to her aid. "Let me help you…"

"I'm all right, Kyrano," she gasped. "Go see if they need your help. Leave me…" she took a step forward and grimaced.

"Come sit down," Kyrano suggested.

"No, I'm all right," Grandma reiterated.

"But your back, Mrs Tracy…"

"I'll be fine…"

Trapped behind the elderly lady who was moving unsteadily and the Malaysian servant trying to help her, Ned and Joe could do nothing but chafe at the knowledge that they were missing the action and wait until there was enough room for them to slip past…

* * *

Brains, having decided to forego dessert due to growing tired of trying to maintain his mad scientist act, had earlier retired to the laboratory. As soon as he'd heard the alarm he'd started readying the fire fighting equipment. By the time the three Tracy men had arrived in the lab three sets of breathing apparatus, two fire extinguishers and a trauma first aid kit had been laid out.

"Thanks, Brains," Jeff grunted as he donned an oxygen mask and picked up a fire extinguisher. Alan and Virgil followed their father's lead, grabbing the other extinguisher and the first aid kit respectively.

Jeff cautiously slid open the door that led to the downward spiralling stairs and checked for smoke. "Seems clear," he said as he started descending. After ensuring their oxygen masks were air tight, his two sons followed close behind.

Brains tipped a beaker into one of the sinks.

* * *

"Excuse me!" Enough of a gap had opened up between Kyrano and the doorframe that Ned was able to push his way through with Joe slipping after him. As the two reporters ran to the laboratory Grandma straightened. "I think we kept them out of the way long enough, Kyrano."

Kyrano gave one of his characteristically gentle smiles. "I believe you are right, Mrs Tracy."

"I hope it is nothing serious!"

"The siren has stopped. I believe it will be a false alarm."

Grandma looked at Kyrano. "My boys didn't think it was a false alarm." She tutted. "Virgil should have stayed up here with us."

"Mrs Tracy?" Kyrano queried.

"He's pushing himself too hard, too soon. He's as stubborn as the rest of them. Doesn't know when to take it easy. He gets it from Jeff." She sighed. "I hope everyone's all right."

* * *

Ned and Joe barrelled into the lab and pulled up short at the sight of Brains, alone, waving a piece of paper frantically. "Where is everyone?" Ned asked.

Brains stared at him short-sightedly and dropped his paper on the bench. "Wh-Who's everyone?"

"Tracy and his two boys."

Brains scratched his head. "In the l-lounge?" he guessed. He picked up the paper and started waving it again.

"No," Joe was doing a circuit of the laboratory searching for the missing men. "They came in here."

"In h-here?"

"Yes! In here!"

* * *

"Gordon! You're an irresponsible, immature, irrational idiot…"

"Thanks for the lesson in alliteration, Scott."

"Don't try to sweet talk your way out of this one. It's not like you don't know you've done something stupid!"

"Relax. It was an accident! Everything's under control," Gordon soothed. "The fire's out. No damage has been done and no one's been hurt…"

Scott heard something behind him, saw his brother's expression change, and turned. His father and two brothers were standing there, panting slightly from having run down the stairs carrying heavy equipment. "Oh."

Jeff removed his oxygen mask. "What's going on here?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Virgil and Alan knew that tone. It meant one of them was in big trouble. Without a word they turned and retreated back up the stairs.

"It's okay, Father," Scott said, sensing an impending explosion. "Everything's under control."

Jeff had fixed his gaze on Gordon. "Did you have anything to do with the fire alarm, Scott?"

Scott hesitated.

"No, he didn't," Gordon admitted. "I started it… It was an accident."

"Fine," Jeff had the appearance of a man whose emotions were only just under control. "Go to your room, Scott." His voice was still quiet, but there was no doubt that he was demanding obedience.

Scott briefly considered defying his father and staying to support Gordon, but decided that it would be prudent to leave. He retired to his temporary bedroom, and closed the door behind him.

"All right, Gordon. Let's hear…" Jeff was hefting his breathing apparatus onto the table when he spied John watching them through Thunderbird Five's video connection. "Don't you have work to do?" he snapped.

John hastily disconnected the link, leaving Gordon to his sorry fate…

* * *

"Well?" Alan asked when they reached the top of the stairs.

Virgil was trying to open the door. "It's locked," he said.

"So Brains has company?"

"Uh huh."

Alan sat down on the top step, "I'm not going back down there."

"No." Virgil sat down beside him. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

They both winced when a particularly strident shout found its way to the top of the stairs. "Gordon's getting it bad this time," Alan noted.

"Yes," Virgil agreed.

They were silent for a time, occasionally hearing sounds from the depths of the earth, telling them that their brother was still being severely admonished.

"Dad's going overboard," Alan said. "It's not that serious."

"He obviously thinks it is."

They listened some more.

"What would you say if someone was going to interview you about International Rescue?" Virgil eventually asked.

"I'd tell him to get lost."

"No, I mean if we had no security issues. If we had no reason to maintain secrecy and you were free to give the interview."

"I don't know…" Alan said thoughtfully. "I've never thought about it. What about you?" He pretended to hold an imaginary microphone under Virgil's nose. "Now tell me, Mr Tracy. How did you join International Rescue?"

Virgil laughed. "Well…" he said playing along. "You could say I was born into it."

* * *

"What is it with this place?" Ned asked as he looked around the nearly empty laboratory. "How can people just disappear into thin air?"

Brains, the only visible occupant, was shaking his head. "That is a physical impossibility. N-Nothing can disappear into th-thin air. F-For one thing we are almost at s-s-sea level. The air here is n-not thin. And the ph-phrase 'thin air' is a misnomer. Air is n-not 'thin', m-merely that the higher you go in the Troposphere, the less w-weight of air there is above you in th-the atmosphere…"

Joe shrugged and looked at Ned.

"Also," Brains continued on with this theme. "It is impossible for s-something to disappear. Th-There must be some f-form of transference of matter or energy. For instance, sh-should someone s-spontaneously combust they would not d-disappear. They would convert into energy in th-the form of heat and light and a portion would p-p-probably remain as a deposit of carbon. It's the s-second law of thermodynamics. Should they…"

"Brains!" Ned slammed both hands onto the workbench and stared at the scientist so that they were practically nose-to-nose. "We heard the fire alarm go off. Jeff Tracy said the fire was in here. We saw him, Virgil and Alan come in here. So… Where… Are… They?"

Brains shook his head. "There was no f-fire. What you can smell is s-sulphur."

Ned frowned. "Sulphur."

"I s-stupidly tipped a b-beaker of sulphur into the sink," Brains said flapping his piece of paper again to disperse the odour. "It's pr-probably that you can smell."

"No," Ned shook his head in frustration. "We didn't smell anything…"

Joe wrinkled up his nose. "I can." He flipped a switch marked 'extractor fan' and a quiet motor hummed into life.

"Ah," Brains said. "I-I hadn't thought of that. Th-Thank you… ah… Jim?"

"Joe," Joe told him.

"Joe," Brains repeated.

Ned ignored this exchange. "We… Heard… The… Fire… Alarm," he enunciated. "Your… Employer… And his sons… Came… In… Here... Where… Are… They?"

Brains frowned. "They're not in the lounge?"

Ned groaned.

"Come on, Ned," Joe said. "We're wasting time."

"But we saw them come in here!" Ned protested as he reluctantly followed his colleague towards the laboratory door.

"Come to my room,' Joe whispered.

"Huh? Why?" Ned queried.

Joe winked and held a finger to his lips.

Intrigued, Ned allowed himself to be led to his partner's bedroom waiting until the door behind him had slid shut before speaking. "Well? What?"

"You and I both agree that the Tracys ran into the lab, right?"

"Right."

"But there was no evidence of them when we got there, after having been conveniently held up in the dining room."

"True," Ned agreed.

"While you and the nutty professor were having your little tête-à-tête, I was having a nosey round…"

"And…"

"And… Do you remember the cabinet on the far side of the room? The one with the fire fighting equipment?"

Ned frowned as he tried to remember. "I think so. I didn't take it in before. Everyone seems to be more concerned about storm surges than fires."

"It was missing three lots of breathing apparatus, a couple of extinguishers, and, if I remember correctly, a first aid kit."

Ned took in this bit of information. "So there was a fire somewhere?"

"Yes," Joe nodded. "The question is where? There was nothing in the lab except for the smell of sulphur which definitely came from that upended beaker."

"Well observed, Joe," Ned congratulated. "I missed all that."

"That's why I'm the cameraman and you're the reporter; I observe things and you ask the pertinent questions. That's why we're such a good team… And I'll tell you something else."

"Yes," Ned said, his attention fully on the cameraman.

"I don't think Brains is as stupid as he makes out. We're being conned by the Tracys and their friends as much as we tried to con them. I'm beginning to think that your hunch is correct... This family is hiding something!"

"You're only beginning to think that? Didn't you trust me?" Ned asked.

"I've trusted you, Ned. But I'm always happier when we start to get some evidence. Something that we can show the bosses so they don't sting us for this little jaunt."

"We don't have any concrete evidence yet," Ned reminded him.

"No…" Joe admitted. "I wish I could get my hands on my camera."

* * *

As though he'd suddenly realised that this wasn't a mischievous little boy he was scolding, but a severely chastened young man, Jeff stopped yelling.

Gordon managed to raise his head and look his father in the eye. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"I know," Jeff replied.

"I didn't mean to start the fire."

"I know," Jeff repeated.

"It was an accident."

"I know," Jeff repeated a third time before trying to cheer his woebegone son up. "I'd never disown you, but there have been times when I wonder why your mother and I didn't stop at three children."

Gordon managed a small smile. "Because you needed an aquanaut for the team."

Jeff chuckled. "I knew there had to be a good reason." He laid his hand gently on his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry I yelled, Gordon, but when I heard that alarm all I could think about was the fact that perhaps you and Scott were in danger." He sighed. "I guess the stress is getting to me too."

"No," Gordon didn't sound his usual buoyant self. "You're right, Dad. I've endangered everyone… I've endangered International Rescue! I've endangered all you've worked for…!"

"I hope you don't regard International Rescue as only my project."

Gordon shook his head. "I've been proud to be part of this organisation. I don't want to be the one to ruin it."

"It hasn't been ruined, and as long as we're careful it won't be… I'd better get back upstairs before our guests start wondering where I am. Now, chin up, the cyclone can't last forever."

"It already feels like it has."

"You're right there," Jeff agreed. "Do you need anything Gordon?"

Gordon shook his head…

* * *

"It's gone quiet," Virgil noted. "Do you think we should go back down?"

"What for?" Alan asked. "To mop up the blood?"

"I've still got the first aid kit," Virgil held up the item in question.

Jeff rounded a corner. "What are you two still doing here?"

Alan indicated the door. "Brains has company."

Jeff pushed a button and the door slid open. "He doesn't now."

Virgil and Alan looked at each other sheepishly as they picked up their gear.

Jeff wrinkled his nose in distaste as he entered the lab. "What's that smell, Brains?"

"Sulphur." Brains explained. "I t-tipped it in the sink to mask any s-smell of s-smoke. What happened?"

"Gordon." Jeff said simply. "He decided that he wanted to do some cooking." He shook his head ruefully. "The one time he feels like doing something domesticated and he winds up nearly killing himself and Scott, and exposing the organisation."

"It wasn't quite that bad," Virgil reminded him.

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "The fire was well out by the time we got there."

"I suppose it could have been worse," Jeff agreed.

"I-I had our guests in here again," Brains informed them.

"We guessed," Alan told him.

"They're getting s-suspicious," Brains warned. "They saw you come in here and w-wondered where you'd disappeared to."

"What did you tell them?" Jeff asked.

"I did my dumb act. Th-The problem was while I was t-talking to Cook, Joe was nosing around the lab. I'm pretty sure he looked in the, uh, emergency cabinet."

"And saw that some of the gear was missing?" Alan asked.

"Y-Yes."

"We're going to have to be twice as careful from now on," Jeff warned. "But at least I can trust Gordon not to risk exposure twice."

The three younger men looked at each other uneasily and remembered Tracey...

* * *

Scott cracked the door to his bedroom open and peered out. Gordon was sitting on one of the comfortable couches, staring at the charred cloth his hands.

"Hey?" Scott asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not. You were bored that's all. You haven't got the temperament to be cooped up underground for days on end."

"Did you hear what Dad said?"

"Yes," Scott nodded. "It was a little hard not to. We're going to have to do something to improve the soundproofing in this place."

"So you know that he's right. I'm risking all our safety, not just yours and mine."

"He didn't mean that. He got a fright. That's all. He's been worried about Cook and Co being in the house and the stress has been building up. You just had the misfortune to be the one to open the pressure valve."

"Imagine what he'd be like if he'd known about Tracey."

"Well, don't worry. I won't tell him."

"What about Virgil and Alan?"

"Nah. They're accessories before, during, and after the fact. There's no way they'll open their mouths."

"Everything's going wrong and it's all my fault!" Gordon threw the rag angrily onto the coffee table at his feet. "If only I hadn't won that stupid medal!"

"Don't talk like that! It's not a stupid medal and you're not an idiot!"

"I deserved everything he said! It's always me, isn't it? I've always been the one getting into trouble. I've always caused him the most grief."

"In some ways… But we've all given him cause for concern over the years."

"All we've worked for… All we've strived for gone in an instant! All because I had to win some stupid medal."

"Would you stop saying that?" Scott only just managed to stop himself from snapping out the sentence. "You won an Olympic gold medal! How many other people would have given their eye-teeth just to be able to hold one of those, let alone win one? None of us have even come close…"

"Alan has with his trophies."

"Nah," Scott said in a dismissive manner. "Say you're a top race car driver and most people will yawn. But say you've won an Olympic gold medal and watch their eyes light up. They might not know much about the sport, but they'll understand the significance of the medal."

"Maybe," Gordon said reluctantly.

"No maybe about it. Besides after all that hard work you'd done you deserved that medal, and there's no way that Father would have stood in your way and stopped you at least trying. We're all proud of you… including him. And, honestly, did you have any idea that he was planning International Rescue when you were competing?"

Gordon had to be honest. "No."

"No. None of us did. I doubt even Father thought that this crazy idea of his would ever become more than just a dream. And even if he had, I'll bet he still wouldn't have stopped you competing."

Gordon appeared to be giving this idea some serious consideration.

Scott gave him a moment to mull it over before asking, "Do you ever wish you could compete again?"

"Swim competitively again?" Gordon managed a smile as he reflected on past days of glory. "I'll admit that winning my gold medal was one of the most magical days of my life. I'll never forget that day. I got to the end of the race…" He reached out, re-enacting the moment. "I felt my fingers touch the wall, and I thought, 'well, you've done it, Gordon. You've swum the race of your life. You couldn't have done any better.' I could see other swimmers finishing beside me and knew that at least I hadn't come last. Then I turned and looked at the results and saw that my name, Gordon Tracy," his hand traced where he'd seen his name in lights, "was on top of the board! I had won!" His eyes brightened at the memories. "Suddenly I knew that all those years of work and frustration and depriving myself had paid off. That was a heck of a buzz... So was standing on top of the dais, knowing that they were playing the national anthem because of something that I'd achieved. That was a pretty good feeling…" His smile broadened. "In fact it was a pretty awesome feeling!"

Scott grinned as he listened to his brother reminisce.

"But, since then, I've had bigger and better buzzes. Ones that were more rewarding than from simply winning a swimming race."

"Such as?"

"Such as… taking that first step after my hydrofoil accident. After weeks of seeing in people's eyes the belief that I'd never walk again. After many desperate times where I too was convinced that I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair... To take that first clumsy step was an absolute high. I felt as if I could dance around that room… Instead of almost falling over as I did."

Scott laughed. "I remember that day. Father rang me. He was so excited that I could barely understand what he was saying. I don't think I really believed him until I was able to get leave from the Air Force to visit you. And I must admit that I got a pretty big buzz when you got out of your chair and walked towards me."

"I remember," Gordon grinned. "I remember the look on your face. At that moment I thought that, of the two of us, you were the one who was most likely to fall over."

"Only because you had something to hang on to."

"But," Gordon continued on, "I know a buzz that tops even that."

"What?" Scott asked, intrigued.

"Can't you guess?"

"No," Scott shook his head.

"Every time that we are on a rescue, and there's someone barely clinging to life, and we manage to swoop in there and rescue that person in the nick of time. I'll tell ya, Scott. The first two were pretty amazing from a personal point of view, but to know that I've helped save a life. That's the biggest buzz of all!"

Scott nodded. "You're right. That's a buzz I can relate to. It tops any number of medals and awards and personal achievements."

Gordon bit his lip, the lightness and excitement falling from his face. "And I hope that I haven't ruined it for us all."

"You haven't ruined anything, Gordon. How's Cook going to find us down here? He'll never see you and he won't be able to connect you to International Rescue. Cyclone Sylvia will blow over, they'll leave, and our secret will still be safe. Don't worry about it."

"I hope you're right." Clearly Gordon's good mood had been short-lived.

"Look, forget all this," Scott nudged his brother on the arm. "Let's get our guitars and have a jam session."

Gordon shook his head. "Thanks for the offer. But I've got work to do on Thunderbird Four." He stood. "If you're talking to John tell him I'm sorry I interrupted you before. I'll be in the pod bay if anyone wants me… keeping out of trouble…"

"Gordon…"

But Gordon had gone.

_To be continued…_

_By this point in her proofreading Quiller had formed the GGootBAG (Get Gordon out of the Bunker Action Group) and had duly elected herself president, secretary and treasurer. I'm sure that she would be willing to reinstate this organization for those who wish to help support Gordon in this time of great stress. This, of course, means there is an opportunity for someone to form a companion group, the GSootBAG, to support Scott. Maybe all you 'bag ladies' could get together and swap tips and hints?_

_And if Virgil needs any support I'm here, ready and waiting…_

_Purupuss._

_Note from Quiller I'm sure Scott would want to join the GGootBAG himself!_


	7. Day Three: Suckers

_stupid web site _

**Six: Day Three**

The following morning found Ned and Joe, once again, holed up in Joe's room hatching plans.

"This is a strange household," Joe was declaring. "A room in which people vanish into thin air, a mad scientist, five eligible young men still living at home with their father and grandmother…" He thought for a moment. "One of them missing…"

"Three of them missing," Ned amended.

"Three?"

"There's Gordon, and John…"

"John? But they've spoken to him…"

"They've said they've 'been in contact with him', but I've seen no direct evidence of it. I haven't heard him on the phone. Have you?" Ned looked at his partner.

"No," Joe admitted. "And there hasn't been a word from… What's the other one's name?"

"Scott."

"Maybe he's been dispatched into the Antarctic."

"At this point," Ned sighed. "I'm almost ready to believe anything. I think I'd almost believe them if they said Gordon had been abducted by UFOs."

"You don't believe that Gordon's run away?"

"There's something about that story that doesn't ring true to me. When I let Tracy know that we knew about his and Gordon's altercation the others reacted as if they didn't know what I was talking about."

"So you think the old lady was trying to put us off the scent?"

"Yes," Ned frowned. "The question is, what is the scent we're tracking?" He slammed his fist against his palm. "If only we could talk to someone and get some sense out of them."

"Well you won't get anything out of the Tracys. They'll clam up, as sure as eggs."

"And 'Grandma' would probably try to spin us another tale."

"We'll never get any sense out of the nutty professor."

"Kyrano?" Ned suggested.

"Every time I've spoken to him, he's smiled, bowed politely, and said something in what I think is Malaysian," Joe admitted. "I don't think we'll get any joy out of him."

Ned looked at his cameraman and friend. "Which leaves only one person…"

* * *

Tin-Tin had decided to venture out of her room. She was halfway down the hallway when she heard someone call her name. 

Her heart sank as she turned. "Mr Cook?"

"Now," he chided her in a teasing manner. "I thought I told you to call me Ned."

Tin-Tin nodded.

"We haven't seen much of you," Joe said. "Only at mealtimes."

"I've been… I've been busy," she replied, her eyes glued to the carpet.

"I'd almost think you've been avoiding us," Ned chuckled. "Are you busy now? We'd like to chat. Nothing serious."

Tin-Tin murmured something.

"Sorry, Tin-Tin," Ned said. "I didn't catch that."

"I can not," Tin-Tin whispered.

"Can't? Why not?" Joe asked.

Tin-Tin twisted her hands together anxiously.

"Come on, Tin-Tin," Ned chuckled. "We're not that frightening, are we?"

Tin-Tin shook her head.

"Why don't you talk to us then? We promise that's all we want to do… talk." Ned held his hands up as if he were surrendering and gave Tin-Tin a disarming smile.

"I can not," Tin-Tin repeated.

"But you're talking to us now. See… It's not that hard," Joe said.

"I mustn't… Father has forbidden me."

"He's what!" Joe exclaimed.

"That's ridiculous!" Ned added. "He can't do that."

"He is my father."

"And this is the 21st century, not the 11th," Ned informed her, struggling to keep his ire from rising. "There's a whole new world out there, Tin-Tin and it's a world where intelligent young women, such as yourself, are free to do as they choose and are not constrained by what their fathers tell them they can, or can't, do."

"You do not understand."

"I'll say I don't understand," Joe said. "We only want to have a chat with you. He can't possibly object to that."

Tin-Tin's hands grasped the cloth of her skirt and scrunched it up, an external expression of her internal anguish. "Mr Tracy would not be happy."

"Mr Tracy…? What's it to do with him?" Ned exclaimed. "How come he has such a hold over everyone? He's only one man!"

"You do not understand," Tin-Tin repeated.

"What kind of tyrant is this Jeff Tracy?" Joe asked. "What kind of man drives his son away and disowns him? Tell us, Tin-Tin."

"No. He is a good man..." Tin-Tin said, wondering why no one was overhearing their conversation and coming to her aid. "He is a caring man…"

"Jeff Tracy only cares about himself…"

"No…"

"He has you all under his thumb…"

"No…" Tin-Tin took a step backwards. "You are wrong."

Ned decided that he felt sorry for this poor, downtrodden, young woman. "Let us help you, Tin-Tin," he pleaded. "As soon as this storm's over the three of us can leave this prison of an island."

"Yes," Joe agreed. "We can help you get a new life."

"No. I do not wish to leave…"

"Why not? Imagine what you could do. Go shopping, make new friends, go to clubs, get a boyfriend... Doesn't that sound great?" Ned asked.

Tin-Tin shook her head frantically.

"Has Jeff Tracy brainwashed you all?" Joe asked. "Is the great philanthropist act just that? An act? I think he's a selfish, domineering, egotistical, cruel…"

"No," Tin-Tin repeated again. "He is a good man. He is my friend. Do not speak ill of him… please." She took another step backwards.

"Stand up to him, Tin-Tin!" Ned commanded. "Gordon did! Gordon stood up to his father and left here!"

"No, he… No. I can not… I do not wish to leave. You do not understand, Mr Cook…"

"Then help us to understand. Explain to us what's really going on in this place."

"There is nothing going on. I am happy here." Tin-Tin sounded miserable.

Joe looked at Ned. "Poor girl. Tracy's really got a hold over her."

"You don't know what he is truly like," Tin-Tin told him. "Mr Tracy is a wonderful man. He loves all his sons…"

"Except Gordon."

Tin-Tin looked even more miserable. "…He loves me as if I were his daughter."

"If he did that he would let go. He'd let you be free to live your life, not insist that you stay here as a slave…"

The statement ignited something inside Tin-Tin. "I am not a slave!"

"Then why do you stay here?"

"Because Mr Tracy… Because Brains needs me."

"How? How does Brains need you? He probably doesn't even know you exist when you're not in that lab with him," Joe asked.

"You do not know Brains. He is a genius. It is an honour to work with him."

"An honour? The guy's nuts. I'd be careful, Tin-Tin. If you stay here you're likely to end up as nutty as he is."

"You do not know him." Tin-Tin had decided that her best course of action was to repeat the basic truths and to try to get away when the opportunity arose. "You do not know any of us."

"And you're not giving us the opportunity to know you."

"We are a private family."

"Do you count yourself as a member of the Tracy family?" Ned asked.

Tin-Tin drew herself up to her full height, and for the first time looked the reporter in the eye. "I am proud to do so."

"Then you know all that goes on here." Ned pressed. "What's so special about the laboratory? Where do people go when they enter there? How do they disappear?"

"That is none of your business."

"Maybe not, but I'm curious," Ned informed her. "If you tell me I promise I won't say it to another soul."

"And I make the same promise," Joe added.

Tin-Tin took two steps backwards. "I do not believe you will keep your promise."

Ned pretended to look hurt. "Now, Tin-Tin, you wound me."

"I am sorry. But I do not trust you. Either of you." Tin-Tin tried to walk away.

Ned caught her arm. "Okay. We won't talk about the lab. Let's talk about something else. Where's Scott and John? Has Mr Tracy disowned them as well? Tell me about Jeff Tracy."

Tin-Tin pulled her arm free. "Leave me alone," she cried, trying to leave.

"All we want to do is talk, Tin-Tin," Ned asserted, following her. "We want to understand what is happening here."

Tin-Tin walked quickly towards the kitchen, hopeful that she might find her father or Grandma Tracy. "I do not want to talk to you. Please leave me alone," she reiterated before breaking into a run.

"Tin-Tin, wait!" Ned followed the young Eurasian; Joe hard on his heels.

Tin-Tin entered the kitchen and was horrified to discover that it was empty. Footsteps in the hall told her that the two men were still after her. She had only one avenue of escape. Off the kitchen was a late addition to the house. A long, thin sunroom, constructed of entirely of plexiglass and just wide enough for one person and the various herbs, which her father had planted to be used in the seasoning of the daily meals. On a clear day, from the kitchen and through the herbarium, it was possible to see the Pacific Ocean and the cliffs leading away towards the Round House. Today, in the middle of Cyclone Sylvia, all that could be seen were the torrents of rain crashing onto the roof, running down the walls, dripping onto the ground beneath, and the occasional shrub that Sylvia hurled against the building.

The entrance to the herbarium was from a door cut into the kitchen wall and Tin-Tin ducked through, hoping to be able to hide from her pursuers.

Panting, Ned and Joe ran into the kitchen, saw their quarry run into the external room and flung open the door.

At that moment there was a loud bang…

* * *

"Gordon?" Scott called as he wandered through the labyrinth that was the hangars of International Rescue. "Gordon, where are…? Ah..." He'd found his younger brother. "What are you doing?" 

It was obvious that what Gordon was doing was moping. He was seated on the top of Thunderbird Four, his legs dangling over the edge so his shoeless heels were tapping lightly against the plexiglass viewport. "I'm keeping out of trouble."

Scott kicked his shoes off and clambered up the outside of the yellow submarine until he was able to sit beside his brother. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about yesterday."

"Yesterday's gone," Scott made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Don't worry about it. This cyclone can't last for much longer and then things will get back to normal. We'll both be able to get outside, get some sunshine and we'll both feel better."

"It's all right for you. You haven't jeopardised International Rescue." Clearly a night's sleep hadn't improved Gordon's mood.

"I have kinda. If Cook hears my voice and puts two and two together…"

"What's the odds of that?" Gordon asked. "All you'd have to do is not say a word and they won't know who you are…"

"It'd look a bit odd if I were to suddenly pop up in the middle of a cyclone. 'Hello, Scott. Where have you been?' 'Oh, I decided I couldn't let my family face Sylvia alone so I waved my magic wand and here I am!'"

The corners of Gordon's mouth twitched upwards slightly.

"Or, I suppose I could say that I was flying home, crashed into the ocean, and I was fortunate to wash up on shore. Cold, tired, but alive," Scott made a dramatic gesture, laying his hand on his forehead. "But, of course, I can't say anything because I don't want them to hear my voice."

"Just as well. You're a terrible liar."

"I leave that to the experts. Those who think nothing of telling a tall tale just to play a joke on someone."

Gordon chuckled and then became serious. "Any ideas how long we're going to be trapped down here, Scott?"

* * *

"How much longer do you think this cyclone will last, John?" Jeff Tracy asked. He, along with Virgil, Alan and Brains were holding a conference with Thunderbird Five's space monitor. 

"Hard to say, Dad. Sylvia's a monster! And seems to be quite happy where she is. She's getting quite a bit of power from those seas around you."

Brains nodded knowingly. "A mature tropical cyclone, s-such as S-Sylvia is, is like an engine…"

"Huh?" Alan asked, finding the idea intriguing.

"The warm t-tropical air rising from the P-Pacific Ocean's waters is the fuel. If we could h-harness this heat in the centre of a c-cyclone, and turn it into u-usable electricity, one day's energy would power a c-country the size of New Zealand for 25 years."

Virgil gave a low whistle. "That would solve a few power crises."

"But it doesn't help us now," Jeff growled. "So, roughly, how many days, John?"

"I think you'll be stuck for at least another two, probably three. The eye hasn't reached you yet. Here, I'll show you…" John's image disappeared and was replaced by a satellite photo of Cyclone Sylvia.

"Where's Tracy Island?" Alan asked.

"There." A pointer appeared on screen and circled a small dot superimposed on the swirling circle. "This is the direction Sylvia's tracking." The pointer moved in a south-westerly direction.

"It's huge!" Alan was staring at the picture in awe.

"I told you it was. And you haven't experienced the worst winds yet." John appeared back on screen.

"So we're looking at, at least, another three days of trying to keep International Rescue secret?" Jeff asked John.

Those in the study heard a loud bang and felt a tremor beneath their feet.

"Yes," John was saying, oblivious to the mysterious sensations. "And after the main body of the cyclone's gone you're still going to be getting the effects of the winds at the fringes…"

No one was listening to him. "What was that?" Virgil looked at the others in the room.

"What was what?" John asked, having realised that his family's attention had been diverted from their discussion.

"Thunder?" Alan hypothesised, getting to his feet.

Jeff was already at the door. "It sounded bigger than that... And closer."

"What did?" John asked their departing backs. "What's happened?"

In the hallway the Tracys and Brains were met by an agitated Ned. "Tin-Tin's fallen!"

"My Tin-Tin?" Kyrano had exited his room when he'd heard the mystery noise. "Where is she?"

Alan frowned, trying to judge the seriousness of the situation. "She's what? How?"

"She's in the kitchen. She needs help."

As one man they ran into the kitchen and pulled up upon finding it empty, apart from Joe who was looking through the windows.

"Where is my Tin-Tin?" Kyrano repeated.

"I thought you said she was in here," Virgil added.

"She was. Now she's outside," Ned explained.

"Outside? How'd…" Jeff began and for the first time the family noticed that a part of the building had disappeared.

"She was in that sun room thing. It gave way," Joe told them.

They rushed to the windows and looked down. There, huddled in the upturned herbarium, like a mouse in a jar, was Tin-Tin.

She had been fortunate in that the house was situated on the leeward side of the island, and that the herbarium was on the protected side of the house, meaning things here were relatively sheltered. But even so the rains were still falling in a torrent and the winds were blowing away everything in their path. The hillside above the Tracy Villa had become sodden with the never-ending river of water flowing over it and had collapsed. A mudslide, after powering down the hill, had slammed into the foundations of the house. The herbarium's three support pillars had been unable to withstand the onslaught and had collapsed. Only where the floor joined onto the main building remained connected. The whole room had fallen outwards, inverting itself until it was once again supported on an unstable tripod of collapsed pillars.

The longest wall of the herbarium had effectively become the floor. The plexiglass roof and original floor had become slick walls. Even if the rains and winds hadn't been forcing her to do what she could to protect herself, there was nothing that Tin-Tin could have used to gain purchase to climb out.

Alan tried to force open the door that had previously connected the kitchen with the herbarium, but the strength of the winds was too strong. "Give me a hand, Virgil!" he ordered and together they put their backs into it and managed to get the door open a crack. Ignoring the river of water that was pouring into the house, Alan called down to his friend. "Tin-Tin! Are you all right?"

Inside the house there was no need for warm protective clothing, but out here, exposed to the stinging rains, Tin-Tin was quickly soaked to the skin. She'd been blown along the 'floor' of the herbarium, away from her only hope of escape, until the far wall had impeded her progress. Now she was curled up into a tight ball, trying to ignore the wind, the rain… and the water pooling around her legs… She looked up, blinded by the stream of water. "Help me!"

"Tin-Tin! Are you okay! Don't worry, we'll save you!"

But Tin-Tin had hidden her face away again to protect it from the stinging rain.

"She'll never hear you over this wind," Virgil said as they allowed the door to close.

"Brains?" Jeff turned to the engineer.

"M-My first concern is that the herbarium doesn't appear to be v-very secure," Brains said. "Before we do anything else, I'd like to ensure th-that Tin-Tin doesn't fall any further."

"How are we going to get her out?" Alan asked. "Pull her up?"

"Th-That would be the best solution."

"Alan. Go get some rope so we can at least get Tin-Tin secured," Jeff commanded. "Virgil…" he looked at his middle son and then glanced at the two interlopers who had found a good vantage point and were peering down at the trapped girl. "Virgil, get whatever you'll need to get her to safety."

"F-A… ah, right!" Virgil said and followed Alan out of the kitchen, turning right as his brother went left.

"Tin-Tin!" Kyrano was at the outside door, trying to push it open. "My Tin-Tin!"

"Come here, Old Friend," Jeff led him away from the door. "The boys will get her."

"Is she all right?"

"She doesn't look hurt," Ned said. "Come here, Kyrano. You can see that she's trying to protect herself from the rain."

"M-Mr Tracy. I-I have something…"

"Do what you have to, Brains."

* * *

Gordon and Scott were still sitting on Thunderbird Four when they heard the sound of running feet and then the hum of the motor as one of their storage units was opened. They quickly slid off the submarine and jogged out into the hangar to find out what was going on. 

"What's up, Virg?" Gordon asked.

Virgil glanced at them before turning his attention back to the items stored in the cupboard. "Tin-Tin's in trouble," he said briefly.

"Trouble?" Scott made a quick assessment of the gear that was being assembled at their feet. "What kind of trouble."

Virgil gave them a brief run-down of the situation. "Can you get me four 'Suckers' please, Gordon."

"Sure."

"How bad's the weather?" Scott asked.

"Bad. Remember Scotland last year?"

"Yup."

"It's worse than that."

That was all the information that Scott and Gordon needed to give them a picture of what their friend was up against. "She's going to need some protection," Scott pulled Tin-Tin's rescue headgear out of its locker and checked the attached microphone and headset. "Seems to be working."

Virgil had assembled two sets of International Rescue heavy weather climbing overalls and various bits of rope and abseiling equipment. He picked them up and looked at the large round items in Gordon's hands. "D'you think you could bring them up to the door for me, Gordon?"

"Do you want us to do anything else?" Scott asked, taking some of the ropes off Virgil.

"Not yet. We'll let you know if we need extra man power," Virgil started hurrying for the exit. "You could let John know what's happening though. He's probably up there stewing."

They reached the exit and Scott and Gordon placed their bundles on the floor. "Don't forget, give us a call if you need us," Gordon reminded his brother.

"Don't worry. That'll be topmost in our minds."

"Keep your communicator on transmit," Scott ordered. "We want to know what's going on."

"Okay. Thanks, Guys." Virgil opened the secret door, checked the way was clear, tipped the equipment into the adjacent room and stepped through.

Before the door slid shut behind him Scott and Gordon had a clear view through the window to the outside world. The sight of the wild weather did nothing to ease their concerns for Tin-Tin.

Gordon turned to Scott. "Now what do we do? I don't feel right skulking away down here while she's in trouble."

"No, me neither…" Scott agreed. "The first thing we'll do is let John know the situation. And then…"

"Yes?" Gordon asked eagerly. "Then what?"

"Then we'll go find the plans to the house."

* * *

Alan had got a set of conventional climbing equipment, the kind the Tracy boys and Tin-Tin used for everyday recreational use, and had tethered one end of a rope securely. He looked out the window. "She'll never be able to get into a climbing harness unaided," he commented. "I hope she can tie a bowline. Help me with this door, Dad." 

Together he and his father managed to get the door open a reasonable distance and hold it that way while Brains wedged a jack into place. They stepped back hurriedly and the door remained ajar, flapping and groaning.

Alan got the free end of the rope. "Tin-Tin!" he yelled. "Tin-Tin! Can you hear me?" He waved his arms trying to get her attention.

Tin-Tin couldn't hear him and her head remained buried in her arms with her back to the wind and the onslaught of rain and debris.

"Tin-Tin!" Alan yelled again.

Brains stepped out of the immediate kitchen area, away from Ned and Joe, and activated his wristwatch communicator. "Tin-Tin, can you h-hear me?" He turned up the volume. "Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin became aware of a sound, other than that of the pounding rain against the plexiglass and her body. Her watch, pressed against her ear, appeared to be talking to her. She raised her head enough so that she could see the face. "Brains? Help me, Brains!"

"Alan is going to th-throw a rope down to you," Brains explained.

Tin-Tin frowned. "What? I can't hear you!" She placed the watch back against her ear.

It wasn't much better. "Alin's gonn mmnmnm ro domnm ou," she heard over the weather's never-ending noise.

She took a moment to run the phrase through her mind, and then, coming up with something reasonably coherent, turned to look back up towards the door, shielding her eyes with her arms. "Alan! Help me!"

"Catch this!" Alan threw out the rope, but it was caught by the wind and flew over her head and down the outside of the herbarium. He pulled it back gently, hoping that it would fall back within Tin-Tin's reach. But at the crucial moment a gust caught the end and threw it back at him. Tin-Tin tried reaching for it, but the wind's power was too strong and she was unable to move from her vulnerable position.

"Feed it out slowly," Jeff suggested. "Let the wind carry it down to her."

Alan did as he was told. It seemed to be working until the last moment, when the wind caught the rope again, cracking it like a whip. Tin-Tin cringed back, frightened by this new threat.

Alan reeled the rope in again. "We need some weight on it."

"Not too much," his father warned.

"Here!" Grandma produced some large plastic water containers from the utensils cupboard. "Fill these with water, Kyrano." Eager to finally be able to do something to help his daughter, Kyrano complied, partially filling them, so they had some weight but also enough air so they would float.

Alan tied the containers together and connected them to a karabiner before testing that they were firmly attached. The karabiner he clipped to the loop at the end of the rope. "This time," he said determinedly as he slowly fed the rope out.

This time it worked. The rope snaked its way downwards, slithering across the slippery surface of the plexiglass sideways until it reached the water in the bottom of the herbarium. Here the bottles were caught by the wind and floated towards Tin-Tin. Her eyes partly closed because of the pelting raindrops, she managed to grab them and pulled them towards her, before preparing to release the karabiner.

"Tie yourself to the rope!" Alan yelled.

"Do you want me tied to the rope?" Tin-Tin asked her watch.

Brains nodded emphatically so she would understand.

With one hand keeping a firm grip on the rope, so it wouldn't get loose, Tin-Tin used the other to wrap the lifeline around her and then tie a secure bowline knot. "Now what?" she asked Brains.

"I wish we could pull her up," Alan said to his father. "But that rope'll never be strong enough against this wind and water."

"It's not the rope I'm worried about being strong enough," Jeff said. "It's us. That cyclone's stronger than seven men… or nine," he added quietly.

"Alan!" Virgil yelled from the hallway. "Can you give me a hand?"

Alan raced into the hallway, followed by his grandmother. "Great! You've got the gear."

"There's yours," Virgil held out a climbing suit.

Alan accepted it with a word of thanks and quickly put it on. Then he bent down to pick up his climbing harness. As he straightened something thumped him on the chest. "Grandma! What are you doing?" He looked down seeing a strip of grey across the front of the suit.

She was unravelling some more duct tape. "Now you worry about getting young Tin-Tin to safety," she instructed. "And I'll worry about protecting our identity." She stuck the tape down his sleeve covering up the words 'International Rescue'.

Despite his worries, Alan managed a grin. "Nice one, Grandma."

After covering up a few more damaging logos on his climbing equipment, Grandma turned her attention to her other grandson. "Now, listen to me, Virgil Tracy. You're not going out in that cyclone!"

"Don't worry," Virgil glanced up from where he was checking his equipment. "I don't think I'll be given the opportunity." He nodded over towards Alan who had a determined expression on his face, before pulling a climbing hood over his head and adjusting the microphone. "Can you hear me, Alan?"

He heard the response through the headphones built into the hood. "Loud and clear. How are you receiving me?"

"Strength five," Virgil replied.

"Good," Alan grunted. "Time to get this show on the road."

* * *

Scott and Gordon's frustration at only being able to hear part of what was happening had been amplified when Virgil had put on his climbing overalls, the sleeves of which had covered his watch. Their concerns were allayed somewhat when they used a radio to tune in to the radio conversation between their brothers. "What are you going to do, Alan?" Scott asked. 

"Climb down to Tin-Tin. Then Virgil can pull us up using the 'Suckers'."

"Will they be strong enough, Virgil? That wind looked pretty powerful."

"I don't know, Scott. We can only try."

"We're going back into the kitchen," Alan told his eldest brother. "Excuse us if we stop talking to you."

"That's fine, Alan. But just remember that we're listening."

"We'll mind our manners," Alan picked up two 'Suckers' and carried them into the kitchen.

Ned and Joe appeared to be somewhat surprised to see the two younger Tracy men decked out in their climbing gear complete with protective hoods and microphones. Kyrano was relieved to see that the people that he trusted most in the world were going to save his precious daughter.

Alan dropped his 'Suckers' on the floor. Each disk, approximately the same diameter as a car wheel but the same shape as a suction cup, sat there unimportantly. Virgil placed a replica of the original pair, complete with patch of duct tape, beside it. Then he went back into the hall, returning with a fourth.

"What are they?" Ned asked.

"Suction cups," Alan said briefly. He pressed the button on one and there was a sucking sound as the 'Sucker' adhered itself to the floor. Then he threaded the free end of the rope that was attached to his harness through the mechanics on the top of the unit, repeating the procedure on another 'Sucker' with his safety rope. "Can you check that for me, Virgil?"

Virgil having attached a line for Tin-Tin to the third 'Sucker', and his own safety rope to the fourth, made a swift and thorough check as Alan checked the last two. "You're okay." He pushed another button on each of the units and they took up the slack in the ropes. Then he looked back at his brother. "Any time you're ready."

"Thanks." Alan stepped over to the still flapping, open door. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Alan," his father said.

"Good luck, Alan," there was an echo in four part harmony.

"Bring my Tin-Tin back safely, please, Mister Alan," Kyrano pleaded.

Alan gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "She'll be fine, Kyrano. I'll have her back inside in no time."

Kyrano appeared to be reassured by the young man's words.

Ned and Joe were less sure…

* * *

"Let's see…" Scott and Gordon were pouring over the most recent plans of the villa. "Here's the herbarium …" Scott's finger traced its outline. 

"Yep," Gordon agreed.

"Which has fallen outwards."

"Yep."

"So that means that the floor of the herbarium is up against the wall… of… this… room," Scott superimposed the plans of the level the kitchen was on and the floor below.

"Yep."

"And that room is…"

"Food store number three."

Scott looked at Gordon. "Then that's where we're headed…"

* * *

Alan had made it safely down to what had formerly been the wall of the herbarium. Then he made his way to Tin-Tin, aided, in no small part, by the prevailing winds and the current in the knee deep waters. "It's okay, Honey," he gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "You'll be fine now." 

The gesture did not go unnoticed by the two reporters.

"How are we going to get out, Alan?" Tin-Tin shouted.

"I can't hear you. Put this on." Alan assisted his girlfriend into her hood, doing it up under her chin as she tucked her hair away and lowered her goggles over her eyes. "Better?"

Tin-Tin nodded, now able to hear him through the noise cancelling headphones. "Thank you."

"Are you hurt?"

"No," Tin-Tin reassured him. "I'm fine."

Up in the house, Jeff, wearing his own set of headphones and a microphone, let out a sigh of relief. "She says she's all right, Kyrano," he said covering his mike.

Kyrano allowed himself a smile of relief. "Thank you, Mr Tracy."

Alan was assisting Tin-Tin into a harness as Virgil watched them through the open door. "They're finding it a struggle," he said as a gust of wind caught Alan off balance, causing him to stumble.

"Will the 'Suckers' be able to pull them against this wind?" Jeff asked.

"Brains?" Virgil turned to the scientist who was maintaining his distance from the two reporters.

"I don't know, Mr Tracy. To be honest… A-Against this wind… A-And at the angle that they are h-having to pull… And through the water…" Brains dragged his eyes away from water filling the herbarium and glanced at Kyrano, "I-I have my doubts."

Kyrano's expression was inscrutable.

Alan had succeeded in getting Tin-Tin trussed up in a harness. "Reel her in, Virgil."

"Are you ready, Tin-Tin?" Virgil asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Tell me what to do."

"Keep down low," he suggested. "Try to minimise the wind resistance. If you can crawl, ah, swim, do so, but let the winch do all the work."

"F-A-B," she replied.

"I'll pull you up second, Alan. So we don't snare the lines."

"I'm okay, Virgil. Just concentrate on getting Tin-Tin inside."

Virgil activated the motor on the 'Sucker' attached to Tin-Tin's harness. Slowly the rope grew taut…

* * *

"I never thought of using a 'Vic-dec' to see if anyone was coming," Gordon commented as they slipped into food store number three. 

"And I never realised that there were so many hiding places in this house. I'm onto you now, Gordon."

"Nah. I've only shown you the places big enough for two. You'll still never be able to track me," Gordon placed the victim-detector on a box labelled 'flour'. "Now what?"

Scott unhitched the laser that was strapped to his back. "Now, while we're waiting to see how they get on, I'll work out where we're going to have to cut and you, as the master of illusion, can work out where we're going to hide if we get unexpected visitors." He pulled a laser measure from his pocket and beamed it along the outside wall…

Tin-Tin gave a little scream that ended as choking cry, as the wind, yet again, caught her and flung her through the hip deep water, back to the end of the herbarium. She landed hard against Alan, winding him. "Are you okay, Honey?" he managed to gasp.

Through the water and her goggles he saw tears begin to well up. "I'm scared, Alan."

"Shush. It's okay. Virgil and Brains will get us out." Alan shifted their position slightly so that his body was taking most of the punishment being given out by Cyclone Sylvia. "I'll protect you."

Virgil looked out of the door at the stranded couple and then down at the burnt out 'Sucker'. "Now what?"

"We're going to have to stop that water from rising any further," Jeff said looking down to where the water was lapping at the chests of his son and the girl he almost regarded as a daughter.

"We're g-going to have to drain the herbarium," Brains handed what looked like a large gun to Virgil. "But we don't want to destabilise it. Cut out an overflow hole j-just below the water line to stop it rising any more. Then we'll re-evaluate where is the b-best place for the d-drainage hole."

"Okay." Virgil checked the laser before taking aim through the shaking door. "I wish we could open this some more," he said in frustration. "I don't want to get too close to…"

Unable to withstand being buffeted by the winds any more, the door slammed open, flew off its hinges and cut through the air narrowly above the heads of the couple stranded in the herbarium. The jack, suddenly freed of its constraints ricocheted into the kitchen, missed Virgil by millimetres, and embedded itself into the wall.

"Whew!" Virgil stared at the jack and ran a shaking hand over his forehead. "That was close! Talk having about your wish come true!" He took a steadying breath as the wind whistled into the room.

"Are you all right, Virgil?" his father asked.

Virgil was already taking aim again. "Fine… I've got a clear view now…"

* * *

"What if they manage to pull them out?" Gordon asked as he stood beside Scott, his laser carving through the outside wall of food store number three. "We could be wrecking the house for no good reason." 

"They haven't succeeded so far," Scott rejoined. "And you heard Virgil's voice. That's his, 'we need another plan and we need it fast' tone."

"Do I have one of those?" Gordon asked in interest as he adjusted his cutting angle.

"Yup…"

* * *

"Are you okay, Honey?" Alan asked. 

"I'm cold, Alan."

"I know. But it won't be much longer now. They'll be up there hatching a plan. You know that."

"I wish they'd hurry."

'_So do I,'_ Alan thought as he held her close…

* * *

"Where do you want the hole, Brains?" Virgil asked. 

Brains was peering analytically through the windows. "In the c-corner."

"Here? About this big?" A light traced a circle on the seething surface of the water.

"Yes, Virgil. That will do. It's small enough that Tin-Tin and Alan shouldn't fall through, b-but big enough to release the water without dest-stabiling the structure."

"Okay…" once again the laser fired into life, passing through the water and cutting through what had formerly been the outer wall of the herbarium.

It was Tin-Tin who first felt, through the thin cotton of her top, the water level receding. "The water's draining away, Alan."

"See, I told you they had a plan."

* * *

"Have you got a plan, Virgil?" Scott asked, speaking into his microphone. 

"Negative," Virgil replied.

"We have. We're in food store number three. Get down here."

"You've what!" Virgil released his safety rope attached to a 'Sucker' and sped from the kitchen.

"Where's he gone?" Ned asked Jeff.

"He must have come up with an idea," Jeff prevaricated.

"Shouldn't we follow him? He might need help," Joe suggested.

"I-I'll go," Brains offered.

"Thanks, Brains. I'm sure Virgil will appreciate your help. But I think the rest of us should stay here until one of you calls us."

"Very good, Mr Tracy." Brains inclined his head and hurried from the room.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Virgil asked as he barrelled into the food store and saw what appeared to be the cut outline of a potential hole in the wall, criss-crossed with other cuts. 

"Your job for you," Scott told him. "On the other side of that wall is the herbarium. We'll pull this bit of wall out and then you can cut through the plexiglass and rescue Alan and Tin-Tin." He held out one of the tools that he'd brought with him.

Virgil briefly checked the area that had already been cut. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

"Scott measured it," Gordon told him.

"Then you're in the right place…" Virgil nodded, reassured. "Let's start pulling this out." He knocked out one of the smaller pieces of wall, leaving a hole big enough for the tool to fit through. Threading it through the hole, he ensured that it was sitting flush against the outside of the wall. Then he handed the attached rope to his brothers. "Here we go… Pull!"

All three of them lent backwards, straining against the force of the concrete.

"We only need to remove a little bit and the rest will come down," Scott said, when they stopped for a moment to regain their energies. "Come on, Guys. One good pull should do it. Put your back into it!"

"C-Can I help?"

"Brains!" Gordon exclaimed. "I didn't see you there."

"No. I was watching you. Good thinking, Boys."

"Here y'are," Scott handed him the end of the rope. "On the count of three, pull! One… Two…."

On three they pulled again, dragging a section of concrete inside, which was closely followed by the rest of the wall. After the dust had settled the three Tracy brothers and Brains found themselves staring through the plexiglass wall/floor at Alan and Tin-Tin.

Virgil picked up a laser. "We're on the homeward stretch now," he said as it fired into the life.

"Don't cut near the c-corner," Brains advised. "T-Try to cut within one plane."

"Okay, Brains." Virgil's laser made quick work of the plexiglass and he used the pulling tool again to pull the cut out segment into the storeroom. Water that hadn't been able to drain out of the herbarium cascaded into the room, saturating both Virgil and some of the nearby boxes of provisions. "Just as well I was already wet."

At once Scott and Gordon were braving the torrential rains and reaching out to help Tin-Tin. Relieved to be inches away from safety, she released the rope attached to her harness and jumped down onto the rubble and into Scott's steadying arms. "Are you all right, Honey?" he asked.

"I am now," she nodded. "Thank you."

Gordon grinned at her. "I never realised you were such a home wrecker, Tin-Tin."

"Come on, Alan," Virgil held out a hand to assist his brother.

Those in the kitchen looked down in relief as the two captives escaped the herbarium.

Kyrano pushed himself away from the window, a huge smile of relief on his face. "Where are they, Mr Tracy? I must go to my daughter."

"Food store three." The words were barely out of Jeff's mouth when Kyrano had scurried from the room.

"Where is this room?" Ned asked. "I'd like to congratulate your boys, Mr Tracy. That was quite an act a heroism we just witnessed."

"I doubt they'll think they did anything heroic," Jeff replied as he led the way slowly to the store. "Tin-Tin's an important part of this family. They did what they felt was necessary to save her."

* * *

"Tin-Tin!" Kyrano cried as he burst into the storeroom. 

"Father!" Ignoring the fact that her sodden clothes were soaking his silken robes, Tin-Tin embraced her father.

He held her protectively. "My daughter, are you all right?"

"Perfectly, Father, Thanks to Alan and the boys. But I am cold and wet."

"Mister Virgil, Mister Scott, Mister Gordon… Mister Alan," Kyrano's gaze lingered a trifle longer on the youngest Tracy. "I thank you all most sincerely." There were modest murmurings from the Tracy brothers.

"Alan did the hard work," Virgil offered.

"Got to keep our hand in," Scott said.

"Any excuse to get out and stretch our legs," Gordon grinned.

"We couldn't just leave her," Alan added.

Someone was approaching. And making an inordinate amount of noise in the process.

"Quick, Gordon!" Scott hissed. "Where's this hiding place of yours?"

"Here!" Gordon led the way behind some boxes that he'd pulled out from the wall.

Jeff was the first to enter. "Are you both all right?" His concern for them both was obvious. "Tin-Tin? Alan?"

Alan made a dismissive gesture. "No sweat. It was like a swim in the ocean… although maybe a little more rough."

Joe indicated the hole in the wall. "Great thinking, Virgil!"

"I can't claim all the credit," Virgil admitted.

"How are you, Tin-Tin?" Ned asked.

She shrank away from him. "I am well, thank you," she said formally.

Kyrano felt her tension increase and held her away from him so he could look her in the face. "Tin-Tin? Why did you go into the herbarium? Mr Tracy said it was not safe."

Tin-Tin bit her lip and said nothing, but her eyes darted towards the two reporters, before she lowered them to the ground.

"Tin-Tin?" Jeff asked.

"Mr Cook?" Kyrano looked over his daughter's should to the reporter. "Do you know why?"

Ned gave a nervous laugh. "We, ah, we wanted to talk to Tin-Tin. I think she got the wrong idea… We only wanted a chat."

"Chat?" Jeff frowned.

"We wanted to find out more about her," Ned prevaricated. "We were wondering what a young lady does to entertain herself on a tropical island, far from anywhere."

"I told you to leave me alone!" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "You would not!"

"Where was this?" Jeff asked.

"Outside the library," Tin-Tin told him. "They wouldn't stop asking questions…"

"For some reason she thought we were chasing her," Joe added.

"You were what!" Alan took a threatening step forward but stopped when Virgil stepped in front of him, impeding his progress.

Jeff, more subtly, did the same to Kyrano. "There's quite a distance between the library and the kitchen," he said as he saw Alan's hands clench into fists.

"She ran away from us," Joe said. "We followed her so we could tell her not to be frightened."

"I told you to leave me alone," Tin-Tin reminded him. "You would not listen. You were saying horrible things."

"Such as?" Alan snarled.

"You said that father doesn't let me have any freedom!" Tin-Tin accused, pointing at the two men. "You called me a slave!"

"What!" The Tracys and Kyrano fixed the two reporters with a glare that could only be described as hostile.

"You called Mr Tracy a tyrant! You said he was selfish! You called him cruel, and domineering, and egotistical…!"

By now even Virgil looked ready to hit the two men. "How dare…!" He made an abrupt movement and was held back by his grandmother.

"You accused him of disowning Scott and John!"

Gordon and Scott, still hidden behind the cases, bit their tongues and tried not to let their tempers get the better of them.

"You said Brains was crazy!"

Brains pushed up his sleeves. "W-Would you gentlemen care to s-s-step outside?"

"You said we are all under Mr Tracy's thumb! All except Gordon…"

Gordon gave an involuntary jerk at the sound of his name and a can fell out of the box he was hiding behind. It rolled into the middle of the storeroom.

An awkward silence filled the room. Silence except for the sounds of wind and rain beating in through the hole in the wall.

"Come, my dear," Mrs Tracy put her arms around Tin-Tin's shoulders and gently pried her out of Kyrano's grasp. "Let's get you out of those wet things," she led the young Eurasian out of the room, fixing Ned and Joe with a baleful glare on the way. "You do not know my son," she spat as she strode past.

Kyrano followed his daughter and their friend. "I pray that you will remember that it is an honour to work for Mr Tracy," he said with dignity.

Jeff glared at the reporters. "I think, gentlemen, you would be wise to return to your rooms. We will tell you when the next meal is ready." He was trying to sound neutral, but his sons could hear the anger in his voice.

"You can't order us about, Jeff Tracy. We're not part of your entourage," Ned snapped in reply.

"I think I told you, when you first invited yourselves here, that this is a benign dictatorship…"

"I'm not so sure about benign. That poor girl…"

Another can hit the floor. Scott and Gordon's clothes were soaking wet and the liquid was seeping into the cardboard of the boxes they were pressed up against. Slowly the boxes were disintegrating as the two brothers tried to hold the remaining cans in place.

"Something's behind there," Ned said at the sounds of scuffling, eager to divert attention away from himself and Joe.

Brains stepped forward and picked up one of the fallen cans. "Ah! Th-The Sebastiana pavoniana has Laspeyresia saltitans in them."

"What?" A bemused Joe asked.

Brains held up the can for clarification. "J-Jumping beans. Though, strictly speaking, they are not of the legume family."

"Those are ordinary beans, Brains," Jeff told him.

"Ordinary b-beans?" Brains squinted at the can, raising his spectacles in an ill-founded attempt to read the label. "Are you sh-sh-sure?"

"Quite sure,"

Brains shook the can. "I-I don't know…" he said doubtfully. "What do you think?" he thrust the can into Ned's face.

Ned took a step backwards. "I think Mr Tracy's right."

"Do you?" Brains examined the can again. "Let's open it and f-find out, shall we? I've some nitro-g-glycerine up in the lab. Y-You two can hold the c-can while I open it."

Clearly less than enamoured with the idea, Ned and Joe backed away. "Thanks for the offer, Brains," Ned said. "But I think we'll pass..." He glowered at Jeff. "Just remember that you've only listened to her side of the story," he sneered. "And I thought that Jeff Tracy was supposed to be a fair man. Obviously the rumours are wrong." He and his partner stalked from the room.

Jeff exhaled a breath, and some of the tensions that had built up inside him. "Good work, Brains. You can come out, Boys."

"Is it safe?" Scott whispered, peeping out from behind the boxes.

Jeff nodded. "Thank you for what you did."

"We'd risk our necks for Tin-Tin," Gordon reminded him. "But I wouldn't mind putting those two back under the Empire State Building."

Scott gave what could be described as a predatory grin. "I like the way you're thinking, Gordon. Next time they try to film us, I think I'll be wiping out more than their film." He slammed his fist into his hand.

"Now, Boys," Jeff admonished. "That's not what we're about. They were just curious…"

"Curious? How can you stick up for them, Dad?" Alan asked incredulously. "None of those things he said about you were true. That's libel! You could sue them for every penny they've got."

"You mean slander," Virgil informed him. "But I agree with you. Sue them, Father. You've got witnesses."

"Yeah," Gordon added. "Everyone knows that Jeff Tracy…"

Jeff held up his hand. "Remember with regards to your 'disappearance' to a certain extent that's the image we're trying to create. I'll admit that it's not very palatable to be regarded as some kind of inhuman monster, but it'll only be until the storm is over and then things will get back to normal. And until then we are going to behave like civilised human beings. Is that understood? Alan? Virgil?"

"Yes, Sir," Virgil said reluctantly.

But Alan wasn't prepared to let things go so easily. "But they chased Tin-Tin," he complained. "She told them to leave her alone and they chased her. She could have been killed!"

"Yeah. And so could Alan," Scott added. "You can't forget that!"

"No, I can't and I won't, but it doesn't mean that I'm prepared to resort to physical violence to get my revenge." Jeff shot Brains a meaningful glance. "I do not want anyone asking anyone to step outside."

Gordon chuckled. "If I hadn't heard you with my own ears, Brains, I would never have believed that you said that. What would you have done if they'd taken you up on your offer?"

"I-I'd have held the d-door open for them… and then locked it behind them," Brains said, a trifle smugly. He tapped his head. "Brains will beat b-brawn every time."

"And if they had happened to mention that there's a cyclone raging outside?"

"Believe me, Gordon. If you grow up w-with a st-st-stutter, having to wear spectacles, and an intellect f-far above that of your peers, you learn a few defensive manoeuvres. I was not worried."

A viscous gust of wind blew in the hole and knocked over a tower of boxes.

"We'd better start thinking about repairs," Jeff noted. "I want you two out of sight," he pointed at Scott and Gordon. "Alan and Virgil. Will you patch this hole and then remove any salvageable food to one of the other storerooms?" They nodded. "And while you're doing that, do you think you and I can handle sealing the doors from the kitchen, Brains?"

"Y-Yes, Mr Tracy."

"When you boys have finished down here," Jeff continued on. "We'll need your help in the kitchen. We'll move the stove, and anything else your grandmother requires, into the games room. At least that has a bar sink and a glass washer. From now on the kitchen is off limits. It's too dangerous in there."

Alan rubbed the back of his neck gingerly. "That rain sure packed a punch. My neck's stinging. Have you got something for it, Brains?"

"I'm sure th-there's some cream in the infirmary th-that will help."

Virgil moved behind Alan and pulled at the neck of his overalls. "Your neck's bright red! It really took a pounding."

"Glurgh," Alan choked, pulling at the material that was cutting into his throat.

"We need higher collars on our overalls," Virgil added.

"Stop trying to choke me…!" Alan pulled down the zip on the front of his overalls to release the pressure on his windpipe. "Oh, heck!"

"What?" Virgil asked shifting so he could see Alan's face. Then he froze. "Alan! Where's the duct tape?"

"What's wrong?" Scott asked. "What duct tape?"

"On his overalls!"  
"On my overalls!" Alan held out the cloth covering his chest to his family. "It must have rubbed off on the rope!" 

"Huh," Scott moved closer. "What's the…" He stopped and stared.

There, proudly emblazoned on Alan's overalls for all and sundry to see, was the International Rescue logo.

"How long has that been like that?" Gordon exclaimed.

"Never mind that," Scott added. "More importantly; did they see it?"

"I doubt it," Jeff said slowly. "I think we would have had a different reaction from our guests if they had."

"Just as well y-you stepped in front of him, Virgil," Brains noted. "You probably hid it with your b-body."

"I was only trying to stop Alan from hitting one of them…"

"I wasn't going to hit one of them," Alan contradicted. "I was going to hit both of them."

"Alan," Jeff growled.

"Well! What do you expect? Did you want me to thank them for letting us keep our skills up?"

"Alan!" Jeff said again, more forcefully. "They are guests in our house and I expect you to treat them as such. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"The tyrant lives," Gordon said in a stage whisper to Brains.

Jeff turned to him. "Haven't you got somewhere to go, Gordon?"

"Yes, Sir."

But as they returned to their hideout deep under the mountain, both Scott and Gordon wondered if maybe Ned Cook had finally discovered their secret…

_To be continued…_


	8. Day Four: Connections

**Seven: Day Four – Connections**

After lunch Ned and Joe had a quick conference in Ned's room. "What have we found out so far?" Ned asked.

"We've been over this before," Joe sighed. "All we know is that Gordon's had a falling out with his old man, and no one in the family knows where he is."

"It's not much," Ned admitted. "I wish we could get into Tracy's study. But either he's in there, or it's locked…"

"Or our shadows are tailing us. We've blown it, Ned. No one on this crazy island trusts us. Not after we 'chased' Tin-Tin yesterday."

"Alan was that livid that I thought was going to hit us!"

"See that little peck he gave her? There's something going on between those two."

"Only those two?"

"And after T-T started yelling about how we said this and we did that, I think we were lucky that Tracy stepped in... I wonder if her old man's into karate." Joe looked at the door as if he expected Kyrano to come bursting in.

"Even Virgil looked ready to take a swing at us. I wouldn't have thought he'd have it in him. He doesn't seem the type."

"You think he'd offer to settle it with paint brushes at dawn? Don't knock him, Ned. Remember he was the one who was going to fix the hover-plane. And he was the one who thought of cutting through the wall to save Tin-Tin…"

"Are you sure it was Virgil who came up with that idea? The way he reacted I thought it sounded as if someone had suggested it."

"Who?"

Ned shrugged. "I don't know. The nutty professor didn't do much except hang about in the background. Maybe, for once, he came up with a brilliant idea?"

"Maybe," Joe said reluctantly. "But I still think you're underestimating Virgil. I've known lots of brilliant engineers who've also had an artistic talent. Must be something to do with the wiring in the brain."

"He didn't fix it though, did he? Alan found the original. Nosy kid. Why didn't he stick to playing with his toy cars…?" Ned's frown reversed itself slowly into a grin.

"What!" Joe asked, intrigued.

"How clued up are you with motor racing, Joe?"

"I know a little. Why?"

"Go make friends with the boy racer. Tell him this all this tomfoolery is my idea and you've come along on this wild goose chase because the bosses made you. Maybe he'll let something of interest slip."

"But I'm not a reporter!"

"All the better. He won't suspect you like he would me."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Working on the wannabe Picasso."

"And he'll clam up like the rest of them. He doesn't trust you, Ned. And you can't blame me like you're asking me to blame you."

"I won't. I won't even mention anything to do with Gordon or Jeff Tracy. I'll talk about his paintings."

"And what do you know about art?" Joe scoffed.

"So I'll wing it. I've done it before. I'll get on my bended knees, apologise and then tell him he's the best thing since sliced bread. He'll lap it up… And maybe let something slip."

Joe looked at his friend uncertainly. "You know, Ned. This'd be a hang of a lot easier if we knew what we were looking for."

"Just keep your mind open, your fingers crossed, and this in your pocket," Ned handed Joe his spare recorder. "Even the smallest bit of information could be all we'll need to bust whatever's going on here wide open."

"You're sure there is something going on here?"

"Positive. I can feel it in my bones. I've got a feeling were standing on something big. Maybe even Pulitzer Prize winning material…"

* * *

Alan, relieved that Ned and Joe appeared to have retired to their rooms, had decided to while away an hour or so after dinner polishing his many medals and trophies. When he heard the knock on the door he answered it, hopefully wishing that it was Tin-Tin to give him a hand and some company. 

He was disappointed to discover Joe standing on the threshold. "What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice cold.

Joe looked awkward. "I, uh, Ned's not that interested in sport…"

Alan looked at him. "Yes?"

"He only took this assignment on because the bosses told him to…"

Alan looked at the cameraman, wondering what this had to do with him.

"And my job is to go along with Ned. I don't have much say in what he does… or thinks… He tends to go off half cocked sometimes, and I get caught up in the crossfire."

Alan let Joe continue his staccato monologue.

"I'll admit I'm not a keen sports buff, but I do like racing… Car racing… And I was wondering…"

Now intrigued, Alan continued listening.

"Would you mind showing me some of your trophies? I'd… I'd understand if you didn't want to, but I really would appreciate it."

Alan thought for a moment. He couldn't see any harm in that, and quite liked the idea of showing off his one talent that wasn't possessed by his brothers. "Sure. Come in."

"Thanks." Joe stepped through the door and stopped when confronted with a wall of awards. "Wow!" he said, his eyes round.

"It looks impressive when it's all displayed together like this," Alan admitted. "But it's nothing special."

"Nothing special…" Joe was still gaping at the wall of gold, silver and platinum. "Why have you got this hidden in here? If it were me I'd have it on display where everyone could see it."

"Because I've got four talented brothers and if we had all our awards on show there'd be no room for anything else. Also these are a bit more showy than what some of the others have achieved, so I keep them in here so they don't overpower the others' achievements."

"Yes… but…"

"You'll have seen that we've got that cabinet, in the hall, where we've each got one certificate or trophy on display… That's so Grandma can show off to her friends."

"I've had a look at that. Your contribution is the trophy you received at Parola Sands. Am I right?"

Alan nodded. "That was my last race."

"But that was about two years ago! Don't you miss it? Don't you miss racing? The thrills? The speed? The power?"

Alan shrugged. "Occasionally. But what I'm doing now is more fulfilling."

"And what's that?" Joe watched Alan's previously open expression cloud over.

"Helping Brains with research for my father's business."

"Brains?" Joe said awkwardly. "He's a little… um…"

"He a genius." Alan was torn between the need to be disloyal to his friend and the desire to protect him. "He can't help his… ah… eccentricities. We get on well."

"You would have to living and working together."

Alan said nothing.

Joe indicated the trophy cabinet. "But don't you wish you could race again?"

"Well..." Alan hesitated. "We've nearly finalised a new system that we think will be faster and more efficient than any other car currently available. I'm thinking of entering it into the next race at Parola Sands so we can benchmark it against some of the best cars and racers on the circuit."

"So you're able to combine work and pleasure, huh?"

Alan smiled and Joe saw, reflected in the young man's face, excited anticipation. "Yes."

Joe worked his way along the rows of trophies occasionally asking about the various races, tracks and competitors Alan had come up against in the short time that he'd been racing competitively. "I wouldn't mind betting that Gordon has a trophy wall like this."

Once again he saw a guarded expression on Alan's face. "They don't give showy trophies in swimming."

"What's his contribution to your Grandma's 'show off' case? I would have thought he would have put his Olympic gold medal there… But I guess he took it with him."

'_You know full well it's still in his bedroom,_' Alan thought. "The cabinet holds his diploma in Oceanographic Research. He's pretty proud of that."

"That ranks higher than an Olympic gold medal?" Joe stared at Alan.

"I think he thinks that the medal is a personal achievement. Something he did by himself, for himself. His diploma was a result of a year's worth of research and it's something that he thinks will benefit others."

Joe nodded his understanding. "So… he's proud of what he's achieved." He bit his lip and wondered how he should proceed. "But, obviously, your father isn't. Is that the real reason why Gordon's medal isn't in the cabinet? Because your father wouldn't allow it?"

Now on his guard, Alan frowned. "That is a family matter."

"But it's fascinating. That a man, and not just any man but the highly regarded Jeff Tracy, would disown his own son. Is that why you no longer race? Because your father won't allow you to?"

"I told you I'm going to be in a race later this year."

"Because your father can see some commercial good coming out of it?"

"I think you should mind your own business." Alan tried to keep his voice even.

"Don't you wish you could stand up to him sometimes?" Joe persisted, aware that he was on dangerous ground. "Wouldn't you like to be able to live your life as you want, and not as Daddy says?"

Alan was beginning to lose patience. "You don't understand, Joe..."

The cameraman continued on gamely. "Wouldn't you like to get away from here occasionally? Not be under Daddy's thumb?"

"Joe…"

"Are you secretly jealous of Gordon for having the guts to escape?"

"I think you'd better go, Joe..." there was a definite warning in Alan's voice.

"Okay, okay. I'll leave," Joe held up his hand in a gesture of submission. "Thanks for showing me all these," he indicated the awards. "They are really something else." He beat a hasty retreat, wondering what he'd achieved, aside from, once again, making Alan wary of him.

* * *

Ned found Virgil in the lounge, painting the storm outside. "Aren't you worried that something will come through the glass?" he asked as various sized bits of plant and other debris beat a tattoo against the windows. 

"No," Virgil indicated the patio doors. "They're made of plexiglass like the herbarium. They'll withstand almost anything. And if the winds do get too strong for them, titanium shutters will automatically close across all the windows." He daubed some grey paint on the clouds. "We've never had to use the shutters before, but I won't be surprised if we have to before this cyclone's over."

Ned examined the painting over Virgil's shoulder. "It's looking good."

"Thanks." Virgil resisted the temptation to tell the man to get lost. "I love storms. All that power unleashed by Mother Nature! It really gives you a sensation of just how insignificant man is. Every time we have a storm I try to capture that power in a painting, but I've never been successful." He changed brushes and started working on a lightning bolt.

"You're not doing too bad now. I'm getting a definite sensation of power," Ned lied.

'_Crawler,_' Virgil thought.

"I suppose things must be pretty quiet out here in the middle of nowhere," Ned continued on. "Especially since you and Alan are the ones here at the moment. You'd have lots of time to paint. You must welcome a storm just for a little action."

"Not really. We keep busy." Virgil was giving the sky a chance to dry and had switched his attention to what he could see of the beach through the driving rain.

"Doing what?"

Virgil glanced briefly at Ned and then pretended to study the scene outside. "Research and development," he said briefly.

"Researching and developing what?"

"Various things…" Virgil let his tongue creep out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the fronds of a windswept palm tree.

"Such as?"

"Confidential," Virgil replied, adding a few highlights.

"Of course, I should have realised." Ned was silent for a moment watching the painter at work. Then he changed his angle of attack. "You seem to be a close family."

"Yes, we are. You need to be if you are going to live together on one small island."

Ned wondered if he should mention Gordon and Jeff's altercation and decided that he'd achieve more by ignoring it. "I thought so, the way Alan didn't hesitate to help Tin-Tin yesterday." He thought he sensed Virgil tense up at the mention of the dramatic events. "He seemed quite… protective."

Virgil didn't like the way the reporter had said 'protective'. "We all look out for her."

"All? In what way?"

"She practically grew up as a member of the family." Virgil stared at Ned steadily before returning his attentions to his painting. "Any of us would risk our necks for her."

"That was a clever idea of yours to cut through the wall. I guess you used your engineering skills to ensure you were cutting in the right place?"

"Uh, huh," Virgil replied to the painting. To Ned that confirmed nothing.

Ned watched the artist at work for a short time. "You know, I think you and I have something in common."

Virgil almost laughed as he glanced at the reporter. "Something in common?"

"Yes. You must have heard about my, and Joe's, little drama with the Empire State Building."

"Yes. I watched it on TV. You were both lucky."

"Thanks to International Rescue. Well, ever since then my bosses have been treating us with kid gloves, not trusting us to do anything too strenuous in case we're not ready for it yet. I keep telling them we're fine, but they won't listen to us."

Virgil silently empathised with the reporter's situation as he placed a few daubs of paint on the canvas. "That must be frustrating for you."

"You must know what it's been like. Your family must have been really worried when you had your accident."

Virgil froze mid-stroke. "Accident?"

Ned gave a light-hearted chuckle. "You're not going to tell me that's a state secret, are you? It's pretty obvious that you haven't been well."

"Is it?" Ned had put Virgil on his guard.

"Everyone's been fussing over you, and you've got a small patch on your forehead that's almost healed. So? What happened? I know I'm a nosy reporter, but humour me."

Virgil's hand had automatically gone to the site of the injury. "Equipment malfunction."

"Equipment malfunction?"

Virgil nodded. "It was nothing serious." He turned back to his painting.

"Nothing serious?" Ned repeated. "Your Grandmother in particular still seems to worry about you."

"She doesn't need to. I keep telling her I'm okay."

"So what happened?"

Virgil chose his words carefully. "I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And…"

"And… I got caught by… an explosion and I was knocked unconscious. But that was weeks ago. I'm fine now."

"So…?" Ned asked casually. "What exploded?"

"Some machinery."

"What machinery?"

"Top secret machinery."

Ned chuckled again. "That seems to be everyone's answer in this house when confronted with a question they don't want to answer. 'It's top secret'."

"That's because we value our privacy." Virgil laid down his paints and brush and turned to Ned. "Mr Cook. You came here uninvited. You tricked us into helping you." His voice was quiet and non-threatening, but still had an edge that showed he had had enough of the reporter's questions. "You took advantage of my father's good nature, and believe me, you don't know and you obviously don't want to know what he's really like. We've allowed you to stay here in relative comfort, despite the fact that you endangered Tin-Tin's and Alan's lives. All we ask is that you respect our privacy. Please don't abuse the fact that we're forced to share the same house until this cyclone blows over."

"Ouch," Ned said genially. "I think I've just been told off."

"You've..." Virgil began, and turned when he heard a rumbling sound behind him. The titanium shutters were sliding into place over the patio doors. He crossed over to a wall and pushed open a panel. Inside was a series of buttons and a small readout. "225 kilometres per hour," he read out. "Cyclone Sylvia's on the move again."

A ripple of concern floated across Ned's face. "Should we be worried?"

Virgil shook his head. "As I said before, we haven't tested our defences, but I've no worries as long as those shutters remain closed... Now, if you'll excuse me..." he began packing up his painting kit, "there's nothing to keep me here, so I may as well put this away."

"Of course." Ned stood back and allowed Virgil to pass.

* * *

Virgil put everything in his study and then thought he'd go and check out his incarcerated brothers. He arrived at the lab at the same time as Alan who clearly had the same idea. 

"I've just been interrogated," Alan said.

"You too?"

"H-Hello, boys," Brains greeted them. "Visiting time for the inmates?"

"It's safer down there," Virgil noted.

"T-The storm?"

"Our guests," Virgil clarified. "They're being nosy."

"It's either head underground or pretend that we're a few cylinders short of an engine," Alan explained.

"Don't d-do that," Brains recommended. "It's very h-hard to keep up the pretence. I keep having to remind myself not to say something intelligent."

"I think you're doing a great job, Brains," Alan congratulated the engineer as he followed Virgil into the hidden passage. "There've been times when you've nearly fooled me."

The pair of them reached the bottom of the stairwell and found a miserable twosome.

"Human beings!" Gordon exclaimed, his arms open wide in greeting. "Do me a favour and put me out of my misery."

"What's the problem?" Alan asked, amused by his brother's histrionics.

"That's what I'm waiting to find out," a familiar but unexpected voice said, and received a duet of "Hi, John," by way of reply.

"It's him!" Gordon pointed at Scott. "It's like being trapped in a cage with a hungry polar bear!"

"Hungry polar bear?" Scott exclaimed.

"All you've done all week is growl, and pace from one side of the room to the other, except for meal times when you bolt down your food. I'm scared to go anywhere near you in case you bite my head off."

"Well, you haven't exactly been the best of company, Gordon."

"But at least I don't have a face longer than Thunderbird Three."

"Do you blame me? Don't you think it's unfair that you and I are trapped down here, while those two are enjoying the freedom of our home!"

"We're just as trapped as you are, Scott," Virgil pointed out. "It's not as though we can step outside for some fresh air."

"Yes," Alan agreed. "If we want to get away from our 'guests' we have to come down here. I don't feel like I've been able to relax since they arrived. I've had to be either chaperoning them to make sure they don't discover anything, or hiding so I don't give away anything myself."

"And, to make things even more claustrophobic, the titanium shutters have closed," Virgil added, "Sylvia's proving to be more fearsome than anything we've had to deal with here before."

His brothers digested this news in silence.

"I don't know why you're moaning anyway," Alan informed his oldest brother. "At least you can be yourselves down here. At least down here you can talk about International Rescue without fear of being overheard…" He paused a moment before taking a deep breath. "INTERNATIONAL RESCUE!" he yelled.

"Happy now?" John asked.

Alan nodded. "Boy that felt good! Try it, Virg."

"Maybe later."

"Is that why you came down here?" Gordon asked. "So you could deafen us all?"

"I had to get away from Joe," Alan admitted. "He's been interrogating me."

"Interrogating?" now Scott sounded anxious instead of grumpy. "About what?"

"He was asking about my racing days... and then, none too subtly, asked about Gordon's relationship with Dad, and implied that it's because Dad's got me under his thumb that I gave up racing."

"And while you've been talking to Joe, I've had to deal with Cook." Virgil added. "Thanks to everyone treating me as if I'm bone china, he's worked out that I've been in an accident. So I've been fending off questions about what happened to me. Once he gets his teeth into a line of questioning, he won't let go."

"You should have told him to mind his own business and to slither back under whichever rock it was he slithered out from!" Scott snarled.

"I did, though not in those words. I asked him to respect our privacy."

"Privacy?" Scott sounded incredulous. "The nosy creep doesn't know the meaning of the word."

"I guess you don't become a respected reporter by not learning to ask a few questions," John suggested.

"Respected? Who could respect him?" Scott asked. "He's an arrogant, jumped-up, conceited, fat-headed, egotistical moron, who, just because his face is known all over the world, thinks the world should bow down at his feet!"

"Now that's not very nice," Gordon reprimanded mildly.

"Yes," Virgil agreed with his younger brother. "You haven't even met him, Scott. What's he done to you?"

"It's what he did to you that makes my blood boil!"

His brothers were silent for a moment as they tried to make some sense of what he'd just said.

"I've changed my mind," Gordon stated. "Do us both a favour and put him out of HIS misery!"

"All Cook was doing was asking me a few questions," Virgil reminded Scott. "It was nothing serious..."

"That's not what I'm talking about!"

"Well, what are you talking about?" Alan sounded exasperated.

'It's because of Cook that Virgil was shot down!"

Once again his brothers tried to follow his logic.

"He's been underground too long," Alan eventually hypothesised. "I was afraid this might happen."

"You know...?" Gordon was continuing on with his theme. "It's cruel to let him suffer like this... It would be a kindness really..."

Virgil was shaking his head. "I'll admit that my recollections of the day are a little hazy, but I don't remember Cook being on board the 'Sentinel' issuing orders to shoot Thunderbird Two down."

"You don't understand," Scott insisted.

"You've got that right," Gordon muttered.

"If it hadn't been for Cook holding me up, it would have been me the 'Sentinel' would have been shooting at and not Thunderbird Two! I've got combat experience and Thunderbird One's more manoeuvrable. I could have avoided those missiles!"

"Both Thunderbird One and the 'Sentinel' move so fast that neither of you would have known that the other had been in the same area of ocean," Virgil reminded him.

"But I could have taken the heat off you! Maybe then you wouldn't have been hurt!"

"Scott, what happened to me wasn't your fault…"

"I didn't say it was…"

"And it wasn't Cook's either!" Virgil reiterated. "If you'd left before me, I would have had to face the 'Sentinel' on my own! Do you think I could have made it back without you? It was you talking to me that kept me going!"

"But I couldn't do anything..."

"You did do something! You talked me home! I could never have found my way without you! You kept me focused and on course!"

"But..." said Scott.

"But nothing!" Virgil glowered at his brother. "I'm standing here and, although some people may want to think otherwise, I'm fully recovered. Now stop being an idiot!"

"Now you know why I gave you a call," Gordon told John. "I needed someone sane to talk to!"

"That's what I'm up here for. I've always got my ears open for distress signals."

Alan sighed. "How much longer are we going to be stuck like this, John?"

"Sylvia's eye is almost over you so, assuming that she doesn't suddenly dissipate, I'm picking you're going to have to stay put for at least another four days."

"Four more days of putting up with Cook," Alan groaned. "Know what I find really annoying about him?"

"No, and we don't want to know, but I'm sure you're going to tell us anyway," Gordon replied.

"His voice!"

"His voice?" Virgil queried. "What about it?"

"Don't you find it grating?"

"Grating? Uh… no. It keeps reminding me of something… or someone, but I've never thought it was 'grating'."

"What do the rest of you guys think?" Alan looked around the group. "John? Doesn't Ned Cook's voice get on your nerves?"

"I've never thought about it," John replied. "But then I only have to listen to it in sound bites, not live with it."

"Gordon…?"

"I'm the same as John…"

Alan looked at Scott and decided against asking him the same question.

Virgil looked at his watch. "Come on, Alan. Time we were getting back."

Alan pouted. "Just five minutes more."

"Father's not going to be happy if he knows we've left Cook and Co alone in the house."

"Well why doesn't he do some escorting then?" Alan asked peevishly. "He spends all his time cooped up in his study. It'd do him good to get out, and it would give you and me a break."

Virgil had started walking towards the steps. "I'll see you guys later."

Alan had reluctantly decided to follow his brother. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

"Don't make it too long," Gordon requested. "Otherwise you might only find my dismembered remains."

"Don't be silly, Gordon," Scott growled.

Virgil stopped and looked at him. "It wasn't your fault, Scott," he reiterated before jogging up the stairs.

They passed through the lab without incident, but bumped into Tin-Tin in the hallway. "Do you boys know what's happened to the phones?" she asked.

"'Phones?" Alan frowned. "No. Why?"

"I was talking to my friend in London when the line went dead."

"We've just been talking to John with no problems," Virgil said. "Let's try the lounge 'phone."

They entered the room and were confronted with the sight of Joe fiddling with the TV set. He saw the little group. "It went dead," he protested as though they were about to accuse him of damaging the appliance.

"So did the 'phones," Alan informed him.

"What does that mean?" Ned asked.

Jeff Tracy strode into the lounge and to his desk. He tried the 'phone and his Internet connection. "Both dead," he grunted.

"So's the TV," Joe told him.

"And my 'phone," Tin-Tin added.

Jeff sat down in his chair. "That can only mean the radio mast is down."

"So we're cut off from the outside world?" Ned asked.

"Yes," Jeff lied.

"This does not sound like a good situation to be in," Ned mused. "What if we need to call for help? Can't we do anything?"

"Not panicking would be a good place to start," Alan said.

"We're not panicking," Ned told him.

Jeff ignored the two reporters. "If anyone can come up with a solution to our problem, I'd like to hear it."

"Come on, Tin-Tin," Alan turned to where she was standing, partially hiding behind him. "Let's go have a brainstorming session." He took her by the arm, and led her out the door. "Coming, Virg?"

They gave Brains a quick précis of the situation. "Any ideas, Brains?" Virgil asked.

"C-Communication's not my, ah, speciality, Virgil. The best person to talk to would be John."

"That's what we thought," Alan admitted. "But it would sound more plausible if you had the solution."

"I'm supposed to be a prize idiot, r-remember?" Brains looked at the young man over his glasses.

"A genius prize idiot," Alan reminded him.

"We'll see what John can come up with first," Tin-Tin suggested. "If he doesn't have a solution it won't be a problem. We'll let you know what he suggests, Brains."

"Th-Thank you, Tin-Tin."

At the bottom of the stairwell they found Gordon and Scott trying to raise John on the radio. "You weren't gone long," Gordon noted.

"Is the radio mast down?" Scott asked.

"Looks like it," Virgil said. "We're going to give John a call on Mobile Control to see if he has any ideas of what we can do. Did you shift it to Thunderbird Two?"

A short time later found the four Tracy boys and Tin-Tin crowded around Mobile Control in Thunderbird Two's cockpit. "Calling, Thunderbird Five," Scott said into his microphone. "Come in, John."

John's face appeared on the video monitor. "Ah! There you are. I figured one of two things had happened. Either you'd got sick of talking to me, or the radio mast is down."

"We've lost 'phone, TV and Internet reception," Tin-Tin told him.

"Have you got a back up plan?" Alan asked.

"As a matter of fact I do," John informed him. "Under normal circumstances I'd tell you to take Mobile Control into the lounge, but as things aren't normal I've been working on a plan to tie you over until you get rid of Ned and Joe or get the mast erected again. It's simple enough to follow."

"I knew we could count on you," Scott said. "How efficient will it be?"

"It's not fancy, it won't be clever, but it will be functional. You'll only be able to send and receive messages to and from your nearest satellite, which coincidentally happens to be Thunderbird Five, but you don't need to tell them that."

"Say, John," Alan asked, somewhat hesitantly. "Would you mind if Tin-Tin took the credit for your idea?"

Tin-Tin stared at him. "Me? Why?"

"So Cook and Co will realise that you're not just a pretty face."

"That's a good idea, Alan," Virgil agreed. "Then maybe they won't think that… Tin-Tin's here for… um… shall we say… ah…" he looked embarrassed. "Recreational purposes?"

His brothers stared at him as Tin-Tin's face went scarlet and her mouth dropped open in horror.

"What?" Scott exclaimed.

"I know, I know," Virgil said quickly. "The idea sounds slightly incestuous to me too. But I think that's what they've been thinking."

"Why?" Alan's voice had a dangerous quality to it. "Why would they think that?"

"To someone who doesn't know us, our set up could seem to be slightly strange," Virgil explained. "And they've made several comments to me, as though they are trying to find out if we… and Tin-Tin… you know."

Tin-Tin made an unintelligible sound.

"They haven't said anything to me," Alan growled.

"You're such a hot-head they probably think that they'd be taking their lives into their own hands if they did."

"Hot-head? I suppose they think you're such a creampuff that you wouldn't dream of doing something like that."

"What? Creampuff? Just because I don't come out swinging the instant someone says something I don't like?"

"Oh! And I do?"

"Guys! Shut it!" Scott ordered. "I've got to put up with enough from this mad man without you two at each other's throats as well!"

"Mad man?" Gordon rejoined. "Is that what you think I am? I've been trying to inject a little life into our prison! Being trapped with you in those bunkers is like being stuck in an underground crypt with a zombie!"

"At least I'm not more concerned about a fish's well being than our own!"

"Tracey's better company than you'll ever be!" Gordon stormed.

"Tracey?" Tin-Tin frowned. "Who's Tracey?"

Wrapped up in their arguments, none of the Tracys heard her.

John beckoned Tin-Tin closer to Mobile Control. "Come over here, Honey, and we'll see if we adults can come up with a solution while the children play."

The arguments continued unabated.

"Boy, they're scratchy today," John commented. "How are you coping, Tin-Tin?"

"I've been hiding in my room," she admitted. "I've been trying to keep out of the way. If I don't talk to them I can't say anything to them that I shouldn't."

"Just as well you have been hiding away. It's given you time to think and you've come to realise that the mast could collapse and so you've designed this temporary system." John winked.

"Do you think I can carry this off, John?"

"I'm sure you can. I've got the plans all worked out and it's just a matter of following them. I know you won't have any problems with that. I'm sending them through now."

Tin-Tin picked up the piece of paper that scrolled out of Mobile Control's printer and examined it closely. "It seems straight forward enough… And it's to be installed in the ceiling cavity?"

"Yep. There should be enough room to crawl about. Any questions?"

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I don't think so. But it is rather hard to concentrate with all this noise going on." She indicated the bickering that was still occurring behind her.

"We'll soon stop that," John said, and pushed a button.

An ear splitting siren wailed out of Mobile Control's speakers. As the echo died away silence descended on the group.

"What did you do that for?" Scott asked.

"To get your attention. And now that Tin-Tin has come up with her master plan for regaining contact with the outside world you can all leave me in peace… But first I have something I want you guys to do."

"What's that?" Scott enquired.

"I want you all to repeat these words after me. I want you all to say, 'I'm sorry'."

They stared at him.

"I'm waiting," he informed them. "All say, 'I'm sorry'."

The four men glanced at each other before looking at Thunderbird Two's floor and muttering "I'm sorry."

"Now say, 'I didn't mean what I said'."

"I didn't mean what I said," they mumbled.

"Now say, 'this situation is getting to me'.

"This situation is getting to me."

"Now say, "John is the most intelligent, clever, resourceful, generous and handsome of us all…"

Scott flicked the switch that turned off Mobile Control. "I think we've had enough of that," he told the now black screen. Then he turned back to the brother he'd been arguing with only moments before. "I am sorry, Gordon. You're not mad. You're just as frustrated as I am and you're trying to deal with it in your own way. And I know it's important to protect and preserve the ecology of this island, and I respect the dedication you have to that goal."

Gordon blinked at the unexpected little speech. "Ah… thanks. And I guess I'm sorry I've been trying to wind you up. You're not really miserable, and I did appreciate the help you gave me in getting Tracey."

Tin-Tin stared at him. "Who is Tracey?"

"Gordon's pregnant goldfish," Scott told her.

"She's not gold, she's grey," Gordon reminded him.

"Is she still pregnant?"

"Last time I looked she was all puffed up like a balloon."

"Puff…" Alan shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry I called you a creampuff, Virg. You only have to see you at a rescue to know that nothing could be further from the truth. It was just me being my usual hot-headed self. Speaking before thinking…"

"You weren't being hot-headed yesterday, Alan," Virgil told him. "You were sticking up for the people you cared for, and that's to be admired."

Gordon groaned. "If there's any diabetics present," he announced. "Would they kindly leave the room? We don't want any hyperglycemic attacks from all this saccharine sweetness."

"Guys, we've got to remember," Scott said, "that the 'enemy' isn't each other. It's Ned Cook and Joe." He received murmurings of affirmation. "And I wouldn't mind betting that it isn't Gordon that they're interested in. Who in their right mind would fly half way around the world, in the middle of a cyclone, in order to interview some nobody who's had their fifteen minutes of fame… No offence intended, Gordon."

"None taken. So what is you think they are interested in? You don't think they've got wind that we're International Rescue?"

"No," Alan and Virgil were shaking their heads before Virgil continued on. "They've said nothing that makes me think they've got the slightest suspicions that we are who we are."

"So why are they here?" Alan asked.

"Your father?" Tin-Tin guessed.

"I'd say so," Scott agreed. "Going by what they asked you. They can't be interested in us. None of us would rate a mention in as much as a society magazine, except when linked to him, and anyway Cook's not a gossip columnist. No, I'm betting that he's hoping to find something of interest on one of the world's most influential businessmen."

"So he's trying to dig up some dirt," Alan said.

"Well… Something newsworthy."

"Something like who's the bankroller of the world's most secret organisation," Virgil mused. "Imagine what would happen if he discovered who we are."

"I don't want to think about that," Gordon announced. "I'm not going to do anything to risk our security."

"You mean you're not going to do anything more," Alan amended. "Do you promise there aren't any more Traceys up in your room?"

"If there were I wouldn't ask you to get them…"

Scott held up his hand to forestall another argument. "Guys… shush. Who's the enemy?"

"Cook," Gordon said.

"And Joe," Alan added.

"Good. Remember that."

"We'd better get started," Tin-Tin stood and moved away from Mobile Control. "Virgil, will you get the microphone headsets? It's going to be noisy up there so we'll need the noise cancelling headphones as well."

"How many?"

Tin-Tin thought briefly. "Four. We'll need a ladder too."

"Okay."

"Alan. You can give me a hand to get the necessary wire and componentry.

"Sure."

"Scott. You can stay by Mobile Control and relay any messages or questions I have to John."

Scott smiled. "Yes, Ma'am."

Gordon jumped to his feet and snapped to attention. "Ma'am! Anything I can do, Ma'am?"

"You can behave yourself and not annoy Scott while he's working," Tin-Tin ordered.

Gordon saluted. "Yes, Ma'am!"

"Oh, brother," Alan groaned as they departed. "Do you really think he's going to obey you?"

"You know?" Gordon said to Scott after the three others had left. "The way she was ordering us guys about, I think she'd make a good Dominatrix."

"Gordon!"

* * *

Fortunately for Gordon's health and wellbeing, Tin-Tin, Alan and Virgil were well out of earshot and gathering together the things they required. Tin-Tin and Alan, arms full of various bits and pieces, went into the lounge to explain what they were going to do. 

"It's Tin-Tin's plan," Alan stated. Tin-Tin turned pink.

"So that's what you've been doing all this time," Ned said. "And I thought you'd been avoiding us."

"I thought we might lose the radio mast," Tin-Tin explained, hoping her voice didn't sound too false.

Jeff gave a smile that told them that he knew who the true architect of the scheme was. "Where's Virgil?"

"Getting the ladder."

"Ladder!" Mrs Tracy exclaimed. "He's not going outside!"

"Relax, Mrs Tracy," Tin-Tin soothed. "We're going to climb into ceiling through the manhole in Mr Tracy's study."

"Climb! Jeff! You can't let him climb any ladders!"

"He'd be all right, Mother."

"He's fine, Grandma," Alan reiterated. "He's perfectly healthy."

"Jeff!"

Jeff knew that warning note in her voice and cringed inwardly. She wouldn't be happy until she got her way.

"He must have been badly hurt in that accident," Ned noted. As everyone ignored his statement, they could hear a cheerful whistle coming from the hallway. Virgil was looking forward to the opportunity to do something practical. 

In a short space of time the ladder was set up, the manhole cover removed and Alan and Tin-Tin were crawling around in the ceiling cavity.

"Boy, it's noisy up here," Alan yelled over the sounds of the wind and rain beating down on the roof.

"What?" Tin-Tin yelled back.

"I said it's noisy!"

"What?" Tin-Tin put her headphones, microphone, and a head mounted torch on. "It is noisy up here."

"That's what I just said."

"How can I help?" Virgil was standing on the ladder, his head through the hole in the ceiling.

"We're okay, Virg," Alan said, mindful of his grandmother's earlier order. "You can go back down."

"No way," Virgil disagreed. "Someone needs to act as chaperone for you two!"

Tin-Tin giggled. "Don't worry. I think the spiders will be a sufficient deterrent."

Alan saw something move on her overalls. "Careful, Tin-Tin. There's a big one on your top."

"Where?" Tin-Tin twisted her head around, trying to find it. "Can you remove it, Alan?"

"Here..." Alan played his light across its body before carefully sliding his hand underneath the arachnid. "It's one of those big ones with the green body." He lifted it clear. "See?"

"Oh, yes," Tin-Tin regarded the specimen with interest as it tracked its way across his hand. "Thank you, Alan. I wouldn't want to hurt it."

"You're amazing, Tin-Tin," Virgil said. "Most other girls would have been screaming their heads off by now."

"Well, I'm bigger than it is... Besides, if you want to see me move in a hurry, show me a cockroach."

"Don't let Gordon hear that..." Virgil sneezed.

"Gesundheit," Alan said.

"Jeff!" Grandma Tracy was frowning at the pair of legs that were stationed at the top of the ladder. "Get him down from there."

"Mother," Jeff said patiently from where he was tidying his desk. "You know he's got a clean bill of health. There's nothing wrong with…"

"He's sneezing! How can you say there's nothing wrong?"

"It's dusty up there!"

Grandma folded her arms and glared at her son.

He sighed. "He's not going to be happy."

"I'm not worried about him being happy. I'm worried about him being healthy."

"Mother, you can't mollycoddle him for the rest of his life."

"Jeff!" The look in her eyes told him that the discussion was at an end.

He donned a microphone. "Virgil…"

Virgil looked down. "Yes?"

"Come down, Son."

"But I can help Tin-Tin and Al…"

"I'll do that. You can stand by to get any other equipment they need."

"But…" Virgil looked at his Grandmother's worried frown and knew exactly where this instruction had come from. "I'm okay!"

"I know. Now come down and let me get up there."

"Father!"

"Virgil!"

Virgil slowly started descending "What is going to happen if we get a…" he saw Ned and Joe watching him intently and pulled up short. The rest of his downward journey was made without comment.

Soon Jeff Tracy was standing at the top of the ladder.

Alan had heard the exchange. "He's okay, Dad. There's nothing wrong with him."

"I know, Alan. But with this claustrophobic situation we're presently in I'd rather have Virgil mad at me than your Grandmother. He'll take his frustrations out on the piano and that will be it. Whereas Grandma would spend the next week trying to send me on a guilt trip. She'll remind me about how she spent the best years of her life raising me and then helping me raise you boys. If she gets really mad she'll start reminding me about embarrassing memories that I would rather forget…"

"Such as?" Alan asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Never you mind. Just remember that for everyone's sanity it's easier this way. I'll make it up to Virgil later… What do we do first, Tin-Tin?"

Tin-Tin examined John's plan. "We need to lay it from there to there." She measured out an exact length of wire and handed one end to Alan. A short time later the area was criss-crossed with a web of metal strands…

Ned surreptitiously looked around the room. "Just our luck," he whispered to Joe. "First chance we get to be in here, and half the family's here too."

"See if you can get closer to the desk," Joe advised. "While everyone's attention is up top, you might be able to find something of interest."

Trying to act as if his journalistic nosiness was making him get a better viewpoint of the activities above him, Ned slid closer to Jeff's desk…

"Now…" Tin-Tin frowned at the piece of paper in her hand. "We need… No we don't… Yes we do…"

"What's up?" Alan crawled over so that he was at her shoulder and took the diagram.

"Does that look like we need six metres or eight?" Tin-Tin asked, pointing at a slightly illegible number.

"Si… No… Eig… You know, it could be ten. Doesn't that look like a one?"

"I thought it was a bit of dirt." Tin-Tin flicked a switch on her microphone. "Scott, can you hear me?"

"Strength five, Tin-Tin."

"Can you ask John what the number in area G-2.5 is, please?"

"Sure…"

Gordon mimed cracking a whip with the appropriate sound effects.

Scott switched of the microphone and glared at his brother. "Will you stop that," he hissed, and was rewarded with an insolent grin. He decided that the best course of action was to ignore the redhead. "Mobile Control calling Thunderbird Five."

"Hi, Scott."

Scott explained the problem. "What's the number?"

John examined his own plan. "The ink's smudged. Hang on, I'll do a quick recalculation." There was a moment's silence punctuated by beeps from a computer. "Eight metres."

"Okay, John. Thanks."

"Not a problem. Apart from that how are they going?"

"Great guns, from what I understand. You should be able to talk to them directly any time."

"I'll look forward to it. See ya soon, Scott."

"Bye, John." Scott switched channels from Thunderbird Five to the ceiling of the Tracy Villa. "Are you reading me, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes, Scott."

"The number is eight metres."

"Good, thank you." Tin-Tin unrolled the spool of wire. "…Four …Five …Six …Sev… Bother."

"Now what?" Alan asked.

"We've run out of wire."

"I'll get Virgil to get us another reel," Jeff offered. "Where is he?"

"Taking out his frustrations on the piano." Hearing the voice in his headphones, Jeff looked down through the ceiling hatch and saw Virgil leaning against the wall of the library, still wearing his headset, his arms folded in annoyance. "Are you sure I'm strong enough to handle this?"

"Please, Virgil. We'll humour your grandmother until this storm is over. As soon as things are back to normal I'll talk to her.

"Okay." Virgil pushed himself away from the wall. "Same gauge, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes, please."

"Grandma," Virgil called over his shoulder as he walked from the room. "You're looking tired. Why don't you sit at Father's desk? It's got the most comfortable seat."

"Allow me, Mrs Tracy." Kyrano held the seat out for her.

"Thank you, Kyrano," Grandma accepted the proffered chair.

Ned rolled his eyes at Joe and moved away from the desk.

Virgil soon returned, and a short time later a length of wire was dropped down through the hole in the ceiling. Jeff, followed by Tin-Tin, and then finally Alan, clambered down the ladder.

Tin-Tin grasped the end of the dangling wire and connected it to a basic radio unit that she positioned on a table. Then, after double checking the connection, she gave a sigh. "Now for the moment of truth."

"Good luck, Tin-Tin," Alan offered.

"Thank you." Tin-Tin place a pair of headphones over her head and spoke into a microphone, "This is Tracy Island. Can anyone hear me?" Everyone waited patiently as she tuned the radio. "This is Tracy Island calling," she repeated. "Is anyone reading me?"

"The suspense is killing me," Joe muttered.

"Is it going to work?" Ned asked.

He received a look from Alan which told him he'd asked a stupid question.

"This is Tracy Island," Tin-Tin said again, after, once more, fine tuning the radio. "Can anyone…" Everyone held their breath as she paused, listening. A smile grew on her face. "I can hear you. Can you hear me clearly?" She nodded at the unheard reply. "Yes, that's right… It's not a very strong signal…" Jeff tapped her on the shoulder and made a gesture. "Just a moment. Mr Tracy would like a word with you." She removed the headset and handed it to her employer.

Jeff took it with a word of thanks. "This is Jeff Tracy…" he announced into the microphone. "It's good to hear your voice too… No, we're fine, but we'd be better if this cyclone would leave us alone…"

"Hear, hear," Alan agreed quietly.

"Well, we'd better let you get on with your work," Jeff was saying. "It's good to know that we've got contact with the outside world… We'll do that… Thank you… Goodbye." He placed the headphones on the table and Tin-Tin turned the radio off. "Well done, Tin-Tin," he congratulated her. "It works perfectly."

"Yes," Virgil grinned. "Good work, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin reddened.

"Now that we've got the radio sorted," Jeff stated. "Would everyone please leave the room. I've got some work to do."

"Of course, Jeff," Grandma agreed. "Come along, gentlemen. I'm sure you'd appreciate a cup of coffee." She directed Ned and Joe out of the room.

"Would you care for a coffee, Mr Tracy?" Kyrano enquired.

"You know, that sounds like a good idea," Jeff mused. "All that dust has made me thirsty. I think I'll get a coffee myself before I start work again."

"You two go and freshen up," Virgil offered Tin-Tin and Alan. "I'll clear everything away while Grandma's otherwise occupied."

"Thanks, Virg," Alan said agreeably. Once he and his girlfriend were in the hallway he checked the room was clear. "Well done, Honey."

"Thank you, Alan. But I didn't have a lot to do with it. It was John's plan," she reminded him.

"Well I think you did great…" Alan's gaze shifted off her face and onto the floor. "Ah, Tin-Tin…" There was a note of caution in his voice. "There's a cockroach behind you."

"Cockroach!" Tin-Tin gave a little scream and took a step forward… into Alan's welcoming arms. "Cockroach? Where?"

"He's holding you," Virgil remarked as he walked past carrying the ladder.

"Ha, ha," Alan said sarcastically.

* * *

"You'll be pleased to know," John told his older and younger brothers, "that Tin-Tin's makeshift antenna is working perfectly. I've just had a quick word with her and Dad." 

"That's good," Scott said. "So everything's all right now?"

"Seems to be, but I couldn't ask much," John admitted. "I got the feeling that the reporters were in the room, so they were trying to keep my identity a secret."

"I guess it would sound suspicious if the one person we manage to contact with a weak radio signal, is the missing Tracy brother," Gordon said.

"One of the missing Tracy brothers," John reminded him. "Cook and Co don't know where any of us are…"

* * *

"Did you find out anything, Ned?" Joe asked as they carried their coffees back to Ned's room. 

"No. Virgil was watching me more than he was what was going on in the roof. And then when the old lady sat down I had no chance."

"But you must have seen something!"

Ned shook his head. "No. Tracy'd put all his papers into folders and all the folders were upside down on the desk. There was nothing to tell me anything."

"So, Ned." Joe turned into Ned's room. "You got your wish and you've been in Tracy's study and you found nothing. Now what?"

Ned closed the door behind them. "I don't know, Joe. I'm out of ideas. I'll tell you something though, I have a feeling that tomorrow's the day that we find what we've been looking for."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

_To be continued…_


	9. Day Five: Confrontation

**Eight: Day Five – Confrontation**

By the time day five rolled around everyone was starting to feel the stresses of being incarcerated by Cyclone Sylvia. Those in the known Tracy household congregated in the gloomy lounge needing human contact, even from those who shouldn't be there. Though the titanium shutters masked the scene outside, the howling winds and incessant rain were a continuous reminder of the maelstrom beating on the building.

Jeff discovered that companionship was preferable to solitude and had abandoned his study… after ensuring that the door was locked and secure. He was seated at his desk, trying to do something constructive without use of videophone, Internet connection, or anything classified.

Brains had escaped his laboratory and was participating in a game of chess with Alan. Trying to limit himself to regular chants of "Check" or "Checkmate", he would occasionally open his mouth to say something, catch himself, and close it again without speaking. The action inadvertently added to his perceived air of bemused imbecility.

Alan, never one for sitting still, was itching for some action. In consequence he was continuously fidgeting, forever knocking chess pieces off the table onto the floor and having to retrieve them.

Virgil, seated at the piano, was endeavouring to play something cheerful, but each musical number would deteriorate into something that matched his mood… and the mood of everyone else in the room.

Mrs Tracy had claimed the most comfortable chair and was knitting. However her constantly moving fingers were far removed from her brain as her thoughts moved from their present situation, to her grandsons' wellbeing, to what would happen if…

Kyrano was doing the rounds, supplying everyone with coffee and tending to the many pot plants. His pockets were overflowing with sprays, trimmers, and discarded clippings. Jeff asked him for a teaspoon and received an off-cut from a begonia. When his error was pointed out he grimaced, bowed low, and, without looking Jeff in the eye, supplied the required utensil.

Tin-Tin, sitting close to Alan and as far away from Ned and Joe as it was possible, had her nose buried in a romantic paperback. She sighed, having read the same page at least ten times without taking in a word and closed the book. She watched as Alan, even jumpier from Kyrano's continuous supply of caffeine, knocked Brains' captured bishop and two pawns onto the floor. She picked them up and placed them back on the table.

Ned had borrowed a book from the Tracys' extensive library and was pretending to be engrossed in it, all the while listening for any clue to the story he craved. So far no one appeared to be in the mood to talk, but he was more than willing to bide his time. He turned the page and, from the corner of his eye, watched his cameraman friend wander without aim about the room.

Joe, in the absence of a fully functioning TV and not being in the mood for watching videos, had contented himself by viewing the closed circuit video of the waves that were pounding the rocks on the shoreline and flooding the island's runway. After a full ten minutes of watching nature's fury he'd given up, stood, stretched, and started examining the many works of art that graced the floor and lined the walls. Coming to a photo of the island that had obviously taken from a boat, he examined it closely. As he looked at the picture it occurred to him that the house was a long way above sea level. He turned back to the occupants of the room. "Why are you so worried about storm surges?"

Everyone jumped, surprised by the sudden intrusion of a human voice into their numb silence.

Brains cleared his throat. "T-Tracy Island is the p-peak of a subterranean volcano, which is part of a larger p-plateau," he explained. "The waters of the Pacific roll for kilometres unimpeded until th-they reach the plateau, where they are pushed upwards towards the island. In a l-low pressure system, such as we are experiencing now, th-the, ah, effect is much more marked. I-It is the same effect as when you suck through a straw. Y-You create a low pressure system inside the st-straw, while the air p-pressure outside the straw remains the same. This pushes the liquid you a s-sucking, up the straw. Y-You could say," he continued on, enjoying his narrative, "that the eyewall of the cyclone is the straw, and the eye is wh-where the liquid is sucked up."

Ned lowered his book and stared at the young scientist. It was the sanest thing he'd heard him say and seemed strangely at odds with his normal persona. Realising his lapse into normality, Brains reddened and turned his full attention back to the chessboard.

Alan, however, had no qualms about continuing on. "Tin-Tin and I have done a small study of the geography of the island and we've discovered that it's been subjected to storm surges before."

"Even this high?" Joe indicated the photo.

"It's why we built the house so far up the mountain," Jeff informed him.

"Oh," Ned commented. "I thought it was for the view."

"No," Jeff confirmed.

Joe turned back to examine the photo again and gave a whistle. "What would you do if you ever had to deal with a storm surge high enough to reach the house?" he asked. "What could you do?" An idea came to him. "I suppose you could call International Rescue?"

For some reason the Tracys and their friends seemed to find this suggestion moderately funny.

Ned felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He dropped his book on a coffee table and joined Joe at the photo where he began examining it in detail. "I'd never realised that we were so far above sea level."

"Of course the alarm is set to go off when the waters reach a height much lower than the villa," Jeff explained. "As a safety precaution… If it does sound, we'll retreat to the storm shelters until the danger has passed. We could stay there, quite comfortably, for at least ten days if we needed to."

Alan and Tin-Tin looked at each other thinking about Scott and Gordon trapped down below them. Physically they were comfortable. But their mental state…

* * *

Scott lay on his bed, staring up at the grey ceiling in his room and tried to push an uneasy feeling that had persisted all day to the back of his mind. He was dismissing the sensation as the result of being slightly stir crazy but was beginning to wonder if it was more than that. He reluctantly had to admit that, just as Gordon was pining to be freed to go for a swim, so he was yearning for the skies. He needed the freedom that only flight afforded him. As he continued his examination of the dreary ceiling he resolved that at the first opportunity he'd get Virgil to paint a sky scene on it... The brilliant blue of the tropical skies, with the odd white fluffy cloud... Something so that should the worst happen, and they were stuck down here for two years, he'd still be able to remember what the sky was like. 

He shuddered at the idea...

* * *

Gordon was doing some exercise, trying to keep his swimming muscles in trim. He'd rigged up a contraption that gave him the resistance required to maintain tone, but it was like eating a bowl full of puffed rice. It filled you up but didn't satisfy your basic nutritional needs. He needed the protective support, the cocoon of security that total immersion in water afforded him. 

He released the machine and allowed it to recoil with a snap. Then he sat up, reflecting on the irony of the fact that he was trapped in this underground cell in part because there was too much water above the ground...

* * *

Up in Thunderbird Five John played a series of still photographs that the space station had taken over the last few days. By showing them one after another in rapid succession he could see the path that Sylvia was taking and he watched the cyclone's hypnotic rotation for a moment before switching the viewer off. Then he wandered into the galley, selected a snack and settled down at his telescope. He gave a sigh of contentment. The stars, a bar of chocolate, some peace and quiet and the knowledge that his family and friends were safe… things couldn't get much better than this…

* * *

Virgil watched Ned and Joe examine the photograph and wondered what they were thinking. Then, switching his attention to the chess players, he was just in time to see Brains 'check' Alan and his brother, yet again, drop a chess piece. Rubbing a knot of tension that was forming in his neck, Virgil turned away and found himself staring at the metallic grey expanse of titanium. 

It was not a sight to improve his mood. The grey wall, where the sea and sky should have been, gave him a mildly claustrophobic feeling. He sighed, just at the moment when a bug, which had been happily residing in one of the pot plants until Kyrano had disturbed it, had the misfortune to fly past.

At the sound of coughing Grandma sat up straight. "Virgil! Are you all right?"

"Swallowed… a… fly," Virgil managed to gasp out.

"A fly?" His grandma levered herself out of her chair and came to his side.

"Yep." Virgil sneezed and then wiped his reddened eyes. "I'm fine. It's gone now." He cleared his throat.

"Are you sure, Darling?" Grandma felt his forehead.

He guided her hand away from his face. "It's nothing serious, Grandma. I swallowed a fly, that's all."

She looked at him in consternation. "You're looking pale, Virgil. "

"I haven't been outside in five days," he reminded her. "Of course I'm pale. We all are."

"Do you have a temperature?" She tried again to feel his forehead, but Virgil ducked her touch and she decided that she needed some parental support. "What do you think, Jeff?"

"I think..." Jeff started saying, but Virgil was, yet again, trying to dodge his grandmother's ministrations.

"I'm all right!" he snapped as he held her hand away from his face.

"Let go of me, Virgil. I'm trying to see if you've got a temperature."

"Believe me, I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Trust me, Grandma."

She bit her lip. "I'll get a thermometer."

"There's nothing wrong with me!"

She frowned and folded her arms as she stood in front of him. "You've been overdoing it. I knew you should have been taking it easy these last few days."

"Grandma! The most strenuous thing I've been doing is playing the piano! Next thing you'll be telling me is that I shouldn't be doing that!" Virgil slammed down the lid and the instrument uttered a discordant note of complaint. "There – is – nothing – wrong – with – me!"

Grandma scowled down on her middle Grandson "Don't you take that tone with me, my boy!"

"Hello..." Ned said in a stage whisper to Joe. "There's trouble in paradise." Alan gave him a dirty look.

The two protagonists didn't hear him as Virgil's expression matched that of his elderly relative. "I suppose you think I'm not well enough to continue my job?"

The rest of the family shifted edgily, unused to this kind of confrontation and wary of where it might lead.

Alan found himself wishing that Scott were present to calm his brother down. "Virg..."

Grandma looked at her grandson defiantly. "I was going to suggest that you, your father and I talk about that."

"Oh you were, were you!"

"Virgil…"

Virgil didn't appear to hear his father's quiet admonishment as he rose to his feet and stood there, towering over his Grandmother as he glowered down at her. "Nothing's going to stop me from doing my job! Not some cocky reporters, not some jumped up sea captain, and certainly not you! Do you understand?"

"I understand!" Grandma looked defiantly up at her Grandson and briefly wondered when he'd grown so tall. "I understand that you...!"

"Mother..."

"…won't listen to good common sense."

"Common sense!" The piano stool went flying as Virgil pushed away from the piano. "It's you who seems to have lost all your common sense, Grandma! Just leave me alone! Go bake a cake or something!"

"Not until I'm sure that you're all right…"

But Virgil had gone. Angrily muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he stalked from the lounge.

An uneasy silence fell over those who remained…

* * *

Scott threw aside the flight magazine he'd been trying to read and sat up. That strange sense of foreboding had intensified. He tried to tell himself that his nerves were on edge because he was sick of being trapped underground and nothing more. He decided that maybe some company would ease his tension. He went to look for his brother. 

Gordon scooped some debris out of the fish tank and tried to imagine what it would be like to be in there, swimming with the freedom that the Plectroglyphididodon Tracii was experiencing. "Can I do anything else for you, M'lady?"

"If she answers back I'd start worrying."

Gordon looked over his shoulder. "Well, you're not the best of company at the moment. You've been moping in your room all day. At least it's listening to me."

'Tracey' chose that moment to hide amongst some of the rocks that decorated her tank.

Scott moved closer so he could look inside. "How is Tracey? Has she given birth yet?"

"Nope." Gordon dropped the net into a draining tray and gave Scott his full attention. "What's up with you?"

Scott shrugged. "Nothing much… I wanted your company."

"I thought you were sick of me by now."

"No," Scott made an abortive gesture. "I've…"

"Yes?"

Scott took a deep breath. "I've got a funny feeling…"

Gordon frowned. "What kind of feeling?"

"Kinda…" Scott hesitated, his brow creased in thought as he tried to analyse the sensation. "Kind of as if something's going to happen… or is happening."

He was surprised when Gordon didn't laugh. "Something bad or something good?"

"That's part of what's so frustrating. I can't pin it down and I was wondering if you were feeling the same thing. If it was something to do with us being trapped down here for the last five days."

Gordon shook his head. "I'll admit to feeling bored. I'll admit to feeling frustrated. I'll even admit to feeling jealous of Alan and Virgil. But I don't have any premonitionary feelings… if that's a word."

"I don't think it is."

Gordon gave his eldest brother a reassuring pat on the arm. "Relax. It's probably nothing. As you said yourself, you're sick of being stuck down here. Eventually Sylvia will move on, things will get back to normal, Ned and Joe will head back home and our secret will be safe. You've nothing to worry about…"

* * *

Virgil found himself standing in the middle of his bedroom feeling more than a little ashamed. He had NEVER spoken to his grandmother in that way before. He'd never felt the desire, or the need to do so. He picked up his pillow and slammed it back onto his bed, giving vent to his frustrations. "They won't be thinking I'm a creampuff now. They'll be thinking I'm more of a hot-head than Alan!" 

There was a knock at the door.

Virgil knew that the odds were in favour of his guest being one of two people. Either Jeff Tracy was standing outside that door, or else it would be Alan. His father would be waiting to demand that Virgil go and apologise to his grandmother straight away. Alan would either sympathise with his brother's situation, or ask who gave Virgil the right to talk to their Grandma in that way? Virgil had to admit that he didn't know the answer to that one.

He opened the door.

"Grandma!"

"Virgil..."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Feeling that standing in the hallway, talking in unison, was not the best way to offer an apology, Virgil stood to one side. "Please come in," he offered.

She lowered her eyes. "Thank you."

As he watched his grandmother walk into his room, Virgil felt all the more ashamed at her obviously timid manner. He closed the door to give them some privacy. "Grandma, I'm sorry I yelled at you. The only excuse I can offer is that being cooped up for the last five days has finally sent me round the bend."

She gave a wry smile in reply. "No, Virgil. It's not your fault. This situation is driving us all a little crazy."

"But it's my only excuse… and it's not a good one."

"You don't need an excuse because it's all my fault. I suppose I've been worried about so many things that I've concentrated on the only thing I thought I've had some control over. And that is what you can and can't do. Can you forgive me for being a silly old woman?"

"Only if you'll forgive me for being a rude, hot-headed young man."

"I've never thought of you as either rude or hot-headed."

Virgil managed a grin. "How would you describe me then?"

"Caring, sensitive, artistic..."

"A creampuff."

"Oh, no!" Grandma looked horrified. "You're Virgil Tracy, my grandson, and I wouldn't have you any other way... I wouldn't change you or any of your brothers."

"Thank you, Grandma. And for the record I've never thought of you as a silly old woman. I think it's you I must have inherited my 'caring'…" Virgil mimed the speech marks, "…nature from..."

"But I overdid it this time, didn't I? I am a silly..."

"No you're not," Virgil reprimanded her gently. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again, because it's not true." He opened his arms wide. "Can we hug and make up?"

She willingly accepted his offer. "When did you grow so big, Virgil Tracy?" she said into the material of his shirt. "I can remember when I could wrap my arms right around you."

"So can I. But things change, Grandma. I'm grown up now and I don't need you to watch over me every minute of the day."

"I know. But sometimes I look at you… I look at all of you and I still see those little boys who relied on me so heavily. We were so close in those days."

"I hope we still are," Virgil reminded her.

"I've always thought of myself as being lucky. Having you all as such an important part of my life is special…"

"We're lucky too."

"But that other week… I stood on the patio and I watched you flying closer and closer... I saw Thunderbird Two on fire… I was frightened... I-I was frightened that you wouldn't make it… I was frightened that I would never feel one of your hugs again..."

Virgil felt her give a shiver of fear as the memories and feelings came flooding back. "Hey..." he said softly. "But I did make it, and you're getting a hug now."

"I know. But that was a horrible experience."

Virgil gave a wry grin. "I wasn't having a picnic myself... But, Grandma, I don't want what happened to stop me from doing what I love doing."

"And that includes flying Thunderbird Two and being part of International Rescue, doesn't it?" She took a step backwards and looked into his brown eyes, seeking the truth.

He looked down into her faded blue ones. "Yes it does. And I hope that the next time Thunderbird Two and International Rescue are needed, you'll let me go."

Grandma took another step away and put a brave smile on her face. "I won't have any choice, will I?"

"Well…" Virgil gave a wry smile. "You've still got plenty of influence over Father…"

She gave a little laugh. "True."

"And I think Scott's still stressing over what happened."

"Well send him to me! I'll set him straight."

"So you won't try to stop me in the future?"

A distinctive siren sounded.

"No…" Virgil moaned. "Not now! I was hoping that Ned and Joe would be gone before we'd get another rescue."

"You'd better go, Virgil."

"You're letting me?"

Grandma nodded, trying not to show her reluctance.

Virgil gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks."

"Will you be annoyed with me if I ask you to be careful?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

She managed to smile. "Be careful... Keep safe… and keep your brothers safe too."

"I'll do my best." Virgil slid open his door.

Alan was in the hallway, guiding Ned and Joe to the storm shelters.

"Trouble?" Virgil asked, knowing the answer.

"Uh, huh," Alan confirmed. "I was making sure that our guests are safe."

"I'll do that," Grandma offered. "You and Virgil have work to do." She slipped her arms through Ned and Joe's. "Come on, Gentlemen. You can assist me there."

They heard Alan ask Virgil "Is everything okay between you two?" as the Tracy brothers hurried away in the direction of the lounge.

"Shouldn't we be helping?" Joe asked as Mrs Tracy guided them in the opposite direction.

"No," she replied with confidence. "Everyone has their job and they know what to do. We'd only be in the way."

Seeing his news story slip away, Ned dropped her arm and stopped walking. "But surely there's something we can do to help."

"You are helping by keeping out of the way," Grandma reminded him.

"Three of your grandsons aren't at home."

"That contingency has been catered for."

Joe, realising Ned's true motives for returning to the lounge, backed him up. "It doesn't feel right running away,"

"You're not running away."

"But it's not right!" Joe reiterated.

"Not when the family has been so generous."

"Please, Mr Cook..."

"We'll go back to the lounge and ask. If Mr Tracy says he doesn't need our help we'll come back."

"You can help me get to the shelters."

"Coming, Joe"

"Yep."

"No! They don't need..."

Ned started jogging along the hallway. "We'll be back really soon."

Feeling sick in her stomach Grandma tried to run after the two men. "Stop! You'll only be in the way! … Jeff!"

The lounge seemed to be full when Ned and Joe ran in, and Ned couldn't stop himself from crashing into someone. That someone turned to face the two intruders.

Ned Cook, ace reporter of the NTBS, held his hand out in greeting.

"Gordon Tracy, I presume..."

_To be continued…_


	10. Exposed

**Nine: Exposed**

If Gordon Tracy had ever truly wanted to be a fish, this was the closest he'd come to achieving that piscine goal. His mouth hanging open in surprise, wide eyes and red hair made him seem as though he was giving his impression of a startled goldfish. Only his International Rescue blue uniform spoilt the effect.

Ned Cook, as he had learnt to do over the many years that he'd been reporting, hid his shock beneath a veneer of insolence. Instead he, rather obviously, ran his eyes up and down the uniform. "So this is the Tracy family's great secret. You know, I'd never guessed. There were clues, I knew you were hiding something, but I never guessed it was this!" His eyes narrowed. "I guess we'll be having that interview later, Gordon."

Alan stepped protectively in front of his brother. "You leave him alone!"

"Yeah!" Scott agreed. "Why don't you slither back into the storm shelter until Sylvia's passed and you can leave us in peace?" He took a step forward. "Or do we have to make you?"

Ned's attention switched to the other man, recognising the voice as the one that had comforted him through the long hours he'd been trapped under New York City. "Thunderbird One!"

"Yes," Scott growled. "I'm the pilot of Thunderbird One. And I could wipe you out as quickly as that roll of film."

Virgil laid a restraining hand on his oldest brother's shoulder. "Please, Mr Cook. Leave us and let us do our job."

The sound of laboured breathing heralded Grandma Tracy's arrival. She stopped when she saw the tableau, and wailed, almost in tears. "I'm sorry, - Jeff. - I tried to - stop them, - but they woul-dn't listen - to me."

"It's all right, Mother. It's not your fault," Jeff's voice was calm, belying the glint of anger in his eyes.

"Mrs Tracy. Come and sit down." Kyrano took the elderly lady by the arm and led her towards a chair.

Tin-Tin pushed the chair closer and Grandma sat down with gratitude, twisting her hands together in anxiety. "I'm sorry, Boys, Brains. I'm so sorry."

There was a moment's tense silence as the two groups of protagonists eyed each other.

Brains looked at his watch. "Th-The eye will be here s-soon."

Joe, who didn't have Ned's command of his emotions, was looking in astonishment from Gordon, to Scott, to the row of portraits. He noted that Gordon's had appeared and that in all five pictures the boys were in uniform. "I don't believe it," he breathed. "You're International Rescue!"

"Yes," Ned agreed, sounding less impressed. "They are International Rescue."

"Kyrano," Jeff commanded. "Will you please escort these… 'gentlemen' to the shelters. And then I would be grateful if you would ensure that they stay there."

Kyrano bowed. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Tracy."

"I'm going to help you, Kyrano," Grandma offered, rising to her feet. "It's the least I can do."

"Hah! You've had it now, Cook," Alan jeered. "Kyrano's a master of any of the martial arts. He could whip all five of us Tracy boys at once, with one hand tied behind his back. And once Grandma's got you in her sights you've got no chance of escaping. Take it from one who's tried to sneak out at nights. Right, Gordon?" he nudged his brother.

Gordon maintained his stunned mullet impression. He remained immobile.

Kyrano bowed again. "Mr Cook. Mr Joe. If you would come with me."

"Very well," Ned conceded. "Come on, Joe."

Joe still appeared to be as stunned as Gordon was. "International Rescue!" he breathed again as the reporter pulled him out of the room.

The atmosphere in the lounge remained tense after they'd gone.

It was Gordon who broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Gordon," Scott reassured him. "The question is how do we eliminate the problem?"

"We'll worry about that later," Jeff stated. "In the meantime there's someone who needs our help. How far away is the eye, Brains?"

Brains consulted his watch again. "Eighteen m-minutes."

"Then you'd better get ready, Boys. Scott. I want a word with you before you go."

There was a chorus of F-A-B in reply as they all scrambled for Thunderbird Two.

Their father's parting instruction pulled them up short. "Boys… Make it a good one… It may be our last mission."

* * *

"International Rescue?" Joe whispered to Ned. "Had you any idea?"

They were seated at one end of the fabled storm shelter. At the other end, on either side of the door sat Grandma and Kyrano, as immobile as a pair of statues.

"No," Ned admitted.

"What do you think they'll do to us?"

"Nothing too drastic."

"Are you sure?"

"This is International Rescue we're talking about. I don't think dropping us into the Pacific wearing cement shoes is their modus operandi."

"Maybe they can wipe our minds. Look at the technology they've got available to them. That could explain why no one's been able to trace them up till now."

"You mean we'll turn up somewhere in the States as a couple of gibbering idiots with total amnesia?"

Fear showed in Joe's face. "Maybe."

"Joe, my friend, you're letting your imagination run away with you."

There was an electronic whispering noise from the other side of the room.

Jeff Tracy stood there; a physically imposing man framed by a door that seemed too small for him. As if honouring his presence both his mother and Kyrano stood and he took a step into the room, the door sliding shut behind him. "Gentlemen."

Joe went to stand, looked at Ned, froze without straightening, looked at Jeff, looked back at Ned, and then sat down again.

Ned resisted an impulse to stand as the others had done. Instead he hooked both arms over the back of his chair in an approximation of a relaxed attitude. "What are you going to do with us?"

"We won't be making that decision until my sons return." As Jeff moved closer there was a sense of restrained anger about him. "In the meantime I am asking you to not cause any trouble."

"And if we do?"

The hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Jeff's mouth. "As my youngest son has already told you, you would be unwise to try anything against my mother or Kyrano. Don't underestimate either of them. I'm telling you this for your own good."

"So you're going to hold us prisoner…"

"Not prisoner. We're merely ensuring that you don't see anything that you shouldn't."

Ned ignored the interruption. "So you're going to hold us prisoner until your sons return?" He managed to maintain his laconic attitude. "Until they've returned from flying through one of the worst storms this century. How fast are those winds? 250 kilometres per hour?"

All trace of the smile had disappeared. "275."

"Two hundred and seventy five kilometres per hour," Ned said reflectively. "You know… Jeff…" he used the first name with the arrogance of someone who held the upper hand. "I don't think it's us your sons have to worry about. How good is this plane they're in? Just how strong is this Thunderbird? It is Thunderbird Two they'll be flying in, isn't it?"

"Ned!" Joe hissed.

"Did International Rescue receive any recompense from the USN?"

"What…?" Bemused, Joe looked at his friend.

"Why would we receive 'recompense from the USN?" Jeff asked, with a light laugh.

Ned answered the question with a question. "Do you still trust Thunderbird Two? Is she strong enough to withstand 275 kilometre an hour winds?"

"I'm not answering any of your questions."

Ned kept pushing. "How does it feel, as a 'loving' father, to send your sons out into danger?"

Jeff hesitated and Ned saw a moment's indecision before the Tracy patriarch smiled. But it was a smile touched his mouth and nothing more. "You are persistent, Mr Cook."

"That's the way I work. Get a few ideas, keep throwing them into the pot and see what kind of stew is served up at the end… So tell me. Is it veal or vile?"

Jeff's overriding impulse was to yell into the reporter's jeering face. Instead he kept hold of the iron self control for which he was so well known. "I have a rescue to oversee. I trust that you will behave yourselves and will not give my mother or Kyrano any trouble. You will wait here until the boys return."

Ned's final shot was directed at Jeff's back. "And if they don't return?"

The door closed leaving the four of them in the room.

"Why," Joe hissed, "were you goading him?"

"To see if he'd let something slip."

"Such as? What's the USN got to do with anything?"

Keeping his voice low so that their 'guards' couldn't hear their conversation, Ned said, "while we were in hospital one of my contacts in the USN gave me a call. He told me that there was a rumour going round that the 'Sentinel' had shot down Thunderbird Two."

"What!" Joe exclaimed before glancing towards the door and then lowering his voice again. "What? Why?"

"I don't know."

"Did you try to confirm this?"

"I tried, but I didn't get very far. Can you imagine the world's reaction? One of the strongest assault craft in the world attacks one of the most peaceful. It's not like either organisation would be straining to admit that such a thing had happened."

"True," Joe agreed.

"My contact thought that the reason why International Rescue took so long to reach us was because Thunderbird Two was still out of action and they had no way of getting Thunderbird Four to us in time. My contact said that it was the 'Sentinel', to repay their debt, which took Thunderbird Four from, I guess here, to New York."

"So, is that why John's not here? Do you think he was injured or worse in the crash?"

"No. I caught a glimpse of the portraits before the Tracys realised we were in the room. It shut down pretty quickly, but I think John's is a video link between here and him on Thunderbird Five."

"So who was the pilot of Thunderbird Two? From what I've hear about the 'Sentinel's' missiles, they're not the kind you can just walk away from after getting hit. Whoever was shot down must have been hurt. Does Jeff Tracy have a sixth son? Or a daughter?"

"The guy's so secretive that I wouldn't be surprised, but, no. I'm guessing Virgil was the pilot. You've seen how they've all been watching over him. You heard his comment about the 'jumped up sea captain'."

Joe sat back. "This is bigger than a story about an Olympic Swimmer."

"You're telling me, my friend. You're telling me…"

* * *

Down in Thunderbird Two's flight deck four of the Tracy men were waiting impatiently.

"How long till the eye reaches us, John?" Virgil asked.

John gave a snort. "This is a cyclone we're talking about, Virgil. It's not like you, able to predict touchdown to the nearest second.

Virgil frowned in annoyance. "I'm aware of that. Roughly?"

"Roughly five minutes."

"Good."

"Give or take a couple of minutes."

Virgil restrained from further comment.

"Is everything ready, Virg?" Scott was standing at Virgil's shoulder.

"It should be. You did the pre-flight while I was getting changed."

Scott was watching a gauge on Thunderbird Two's control panel. "Look at those wind speeds! 270 – 280 k per hour."

"I've seen gust of over 300," Virgil noted. "You'd either have to be mad or desperate to be flying out in that."

"Speaking of flying in cyclones," Scott turned so he was addressing his three brothers in the cockpit. "Father's told me that if the eye passes before we're able to get home, we're not to attempt a return until the winds are at a safe speed. We're to go to Penny's instead."

"Fair enough," Virgil said.

"In that case we're going to have to work fast and make sure we're home in time," Alan stated. "There's no way I'm going to run away and leave everyone else to face the cyclone alone… Right, Gordon."

"…Right…" Gordon appeared to still be in a daze.

"Bet you're glad to be finally getting out of that bunker, huh, Gordon?" Alan asked.

"…I guess…" Gordon mumbled; staring at his hands.

"Soon you'll be outside."

"…Yeah..."

"And you won't have to go back down underground when we get back."

"…No…"

"And we'll make sure that reporter doesn't get anywhere near you."

…

Alan looked at his other two brothers and rolled his eyes. "How's Tracey?"

"…Fine..."

"Has she had her babies yet?"

Gordon shook his head and said nothing.

"Gordon," Scott knelt in front of his brother in concern. "Are you feeling all right?"

"…Yeah…"

"Are you up to helping us with this rescue?"

Gordon looked at his eldest brother. "I'm okay. I won't let you down… not with this anyway." He resumed his inspection of his hands.

Scott patted him on the knee in an affectionate and reassuring manner. "You've never let us down. What's happened with Cook and Co isn't your fault."

"What are we going to do with them?" Alan asked. "Did Dad say anything?"

Scott shook his head. "No. He only said he wouldn't make a decision unilaterally. This is something we've all got to agree on. But he doesn't want us to worry until we're home again. He wants us to concentrate on the job in hand. Okay, Alan?"

"Okay."

"Virgil?"

"Sure, Scott."

"John?"

"F-A-B."

"Okay, Gordon?"

"…Okay…"

Scott mouthed something to Alan that the youngest Tracy took to mean, 'Keep talking to him. Cheer him up.' He nodded his understanding and thought for a moment. "I missed the results of the match before we lost the radio mast. You didn't happen to catch them, did you, Gordon?"

Scott watched the pair of them for a moment until he was sure that Gordon was at least responding. Then he returned his attention to his brother seated in the pilot's seat. "How are you, Virg?" he asked quietly.

Virgil looked at him. "I'm okay. Why? Don't try to stop me from going. I'm as fit as I ever was."

"I'm aware of that… I heard about you and Grandma."

Virgil eyed him warily. "Has Alan been talking?"

"No. Father thought I should be aware of what happened."

"So you can keep an eye on me as well as Gordon?"

"You know how it works. As Rescue Co-ordinator I have to be aware of all the facts. And that includes knowing about anything that might impede the performance of one of my operatives. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Virgil…"

"I'll admit that that wasn't one of my finest moments, but you don't need to worry."

"I want to help."

"I know, boy do I know." Virgil shook his head. "But I'm okay, Scott. That's all there is to say."

"Later maybe?"

"I'll think about it."

John interrupted the discussion. "Are you guy's watching the anemometer? The wind's dropping."

"And the barometric pressure's rising," Virgil added. "The eye's almost upon us."

Scott clapped his hands once to get everyone's attention. "This is it guys. If anyone wants to back out now, this is your last chance. We could be flying in the cyclone before we reach our destination."

Gordon and Alan answered by tightening their safety harnesses.

"Virg?"

"If you're coming with us, Scott, you'd better sit down because I'm lifting off as soon as the runway's cleared."

Unseen by the men inside the hangar, the wall of the cliff face started sinking into the earth. Then a scoop slid into position across the face of the hangar door. It moved forward, shifting debris from the runway until an area slightly larger than Thunderbird Two was cleared. Only then did the hangar door fall forward.

Amazingly sunlight streamed into the hangar.

Virgil sneezed.

"I think you're allergic to the sun," Alan said.

"I was beginning to think I'd never see sunshine again," Scott commented as the megalithic craft rolled forward along the runway that was still being pounded by the seas.

Alan gave a whistle. "Look at the mess! We're going to have a heck of a clean up job later. Aren't we, Gordon?"

"Yeah."

"We've lost all the palm trees," Alan continued conversationally.

"No," Scott pointed out through the windscreen. "Two and eight are still standing."

"Bet they don't withstand Sylvia's second affront."

"It's going to be a vertical lift off," Virgil announced. "We can't reach the launch pad. Everyone buckled up?"

"Yes."

"Here we go… Straight up…"

* * *

Jeff stood on the patio and watched as Thunderbird Two rose up from behind the headland that hid part of the runway. The sun shone down giving everything a fresh sparkle, disguising much of the damage and belying the fury the island had recently had to endure.

"Mr Tracy?"

He glanced over his shoulder and then looked back, craning his neck as he watched Thunderbird Two fly higher. "Tin-Tin?"

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Are you taking over your father's role since he's otherwise occupied?" Jeff chuckled, shielding his eyes against the sun and searching out Thunderbird Two, which was now a speck against the blue sky. "That'd be great, thanks. But perhaps you'd take four cups into the storm shelter first? They could be getting thirsty by now."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you and I are going to have to take turns to relieve Mother and Kyrano. Do you mind?"

She had moved to his side and he saw her shake her head. "No. I don't mind."

"Thank you."

"Mr Tracy?"

"Yes, Tin-Tin?"

"What are you going to do with those two men?"

"I don't know, Tin-Tin… At the moment I've got more important things to worry about." He looked back up into the sky.

"Are you worried about Thunderbird Two?"

"A little. We didn't get to test her enough for my liking."

"A-All test's showed sh-she is A-OK, Mr Tracy."

Jeff started. "Brains? I didn't see you there."

"Sorry, Sir."

"You're not worried?"

Brains shook his head. "Th-The launch went very smoothly."

"You're right. I'll admit that with all the damage we've sustained I had my concerns."

"C-Cyclone S-Sylvia has been a good test of our defences. I do not think we have to w-worry, about Thunderbird Two or our home."

Jeff smiled. "Then let's drink to that. I thought you said there was some coffee on offer, Tin-Tin."

She bowed in an unconscious mimicking of her father's customary action. "I will bring some to you, Mr Tracy."

"Thanks, Honey."

* * *

"How high are we going, Virgil?" Alan asked, temporarily giving up on his task of bringing Gordon 'back to life'.

"Looks like Sylvia's about eighteen thousand metres high, so I'm aiming for twenty."

"Two kilometres? Will that be enough separation between us and the winds?" Alan glanced out the window to where the broiling cloud marked the eye wall.

"If it's not then we'll have to go higher," Virgil stated.

"How's our 'victim' holding up, John?" Scott radioed.

"He seems to be fine. Just hanging around waiting for us to rescue him."

"Has Sylvia reached that part of the world yet?"

"The rescue services report that the wind's picked up since I last spoke to them. Sylvia's edging in that direction… as we well know."

"18,000 metres high," Virgil interrupted. "Will be at danger zone in 17.53 minutes."

"Okay, Virg. Thanks. I'll let them know."

"Once you've done that, John, can you patch me through to them?" Scott requested. "I'd like to let them know what we've got planned."

"F-A-B."

As he waited for the local rescue co-ordinator to come on-line, Scott closed his eyes and allowed the sun to play across his face.

Virgil glanced at him. "Feels good, does it?"

"Mmn. I'll say. Better than a heat lamp any day."

"Scott! I have Police Commander Rob Giles."

"Thanks, John. Good morning, Mr Giles."

"Good morning, ah, Sir. How can I help you?"

"Firstly, can you tell me exactly how this man came to be in this predicament?"

"They were filming a reality show," Scott could almost see the man screw up his face in disgust. "The 'star' of the show has to attempt one dare each episode. This week he had to step off the 'Vertical Jump'."

Scott asked the inevitable question. "'Vertical Jump'?"

"It's an attraction on the tallest building in the city," Rob Giles explained. "There's a couple of cables running from the roof to the ground. The chump who's willing to fork out his cash gets trussed up in some kind of overall and a safety harness. Then they're clipped to the cables and step off the roof. They freefall towards the ground until they reach a point where they slow down to a more sensible speed. The theory is that they won't end up as pancake."

"Sounds like fun. Don't you think so, Gordon?" Alan asked.

Scott winked at his brothers as he said, "So what went wrong?"

"The 'star's' dare was to 'enjoy' this bit of 'fun', without being harnessed to the safety line…"

"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's crazy!"

"Illegal too," Giles agreed. "The regular management say that if they had have known what was happening they would have put a stop to it. But the TV crew managed to sweet talk their way into the pocket of one of the employees and he arranged for it to happen after hours. He says the wind speed at the time was within the accepted limits, but I have my doubts. Anyway, our victim slid halfway down the cables and then his cape got jammed in the…"

"His what?" Scott interrupted.

"His cape… He's dressed as Superman." Giles' disgust at the stupidity of it all was clear in his voice.

Alan burst out laughing. "I can't wait to see this. The guy must feel a right idiot! Right, Gordon?"

Gordon's eyes had brightened as he imagined the scene. "Superman stuck in mid-air… I can't believe it. Video it, Virg!"

"Okay."

"We could have handled the situation ourselves," Giles was explaining, "but, as I said, it's the tallest building in the city, the cyclone's getting closer, and we wouldn't be able to carry out the rescue before the winds started getting dangerous. If he'd been wearing the safety line, things would have been different, but... That's why we had to call International Rescue."

"You said they were filming?" Scott asked cautiously. "What about their cameras?"

Mr Giles gave a chuckle. "Don't worry, your security is assured. The producer was having grand visions of filming the whole spectacle and making a documentary out of it… Until we confiscated their cameras. They're crying 'Police State', but we're holding the film as evidence. There'll be a court case no doubt. We've also evacuated all the streets within a mile radius… Local businesses are screaming blue murder!"

Scott sympathised.

"Media!" Giles huffed. "In my experience they cause nothing but trouble."

"Tell me about it," Scott agreed.

"I'll tell you one thing, the TV company's going to cop a mighty big bill at the end of all this."

Scott chuckled. "We'll be sure to send ours along too."

The Police Commander appeared to remember who he was talking to. "What are you planning to do?"

"Lower an elevator car down to 'Superman', secure the guy, cut him loose, and pull him in."

"So you won't be coming in to land then?"

"I've been checking out maps of the general area. There's no room for Thunderbird Two within the immediate vicinity. We will have to land somewhere though to let 'Superman' out. Can you recommend somewhere secure?"

"I'll work on it. How big an area will you need?"

"Ninety two metres by sixty one."

Rob Giles was silent for a moment. "Ah."

"Or, to make things easier, we can lower the elevator into an open area somewhere. Somewhere close to medical facilities, but not too close to buildings or tall trees?"

"Okay. I think I can manage that."

"Good," Alan said in approval. "Then we won't have to hang around too long and can head home. I want to get back before the cyclone hits again."

Gordon appeared to be about to agree, but then remembered who and what was waiting at home and lapsed into silence again.

Scott and Giles sorted out a few more details before Scott turned back to his brothers. "Okay, fellas. This is what we're going to do. I'll control the elevator. That way I can maintain contact with the rescue services. Alan, you control the feed-out line and Gordon, you release 'Superman'. Is everyone happy with that…?"

Alan relinquished his seat next to Gordon so he could talk to Scott without being overheard. "Do you think that's a good idea? He's not exactly himself at the moment."

"I know, but it's a four man job. This way one of us won't be relying on Gordon for safety. If he's got to worry about his own neck, and 'Superman's', I'm pretty sure he'll concentrate on the job and forget about his problems."

"Makes sense," Alan nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him too."

"Thanks, Alan. I know I can count on you."

"One point five minutes from danger zone," Virgil intoned.

"Thanks, Virg. You guys had better go get suited up," Scott instructed. "We'll let you know when we're in place."

* * *

Alan was relieved that Gordon appeared to be able to put aside his troubles and concentrate on the rescue. Soon they were both suspended in the elevator car beneath Thunderbird Two. Ahead of them, dangling between two thick cables, was 'Superman'."

If he'd ever believed that he'd cut a dashing figure in the iconic uniform, 'Superman' was less than impressive now. The wind may have been pushing his body so it was parallel to the ground, and part of his cape was flapping in a manner that simulated flight, but his green face clashed with his blue leotard and spoilt the effect. "I feel sick?" he moaned above the roaring wind.

"Hold on," Gordon shouted. "We'll be with you shortly… Ready, Alan?"

"Yep."

After re-checking that their safety harnesses were securely attached to the elevator car, Alan picked up an instrument similar in shape to a large gun. The projectile appeared to consist of a large suction cup attached to a length of strong wire. He lined up the scope, taking care to aim away from the airsick victim, and squeezed the trigger. With a hiss the projectile soared through the air, the wire snaking out behind it. A thwunk sounded as the suction cup landed against the wall of the building and stuck firm.

Alan tested the strength of the suction cup's grip. "Feels good, Gordon. It should hold you."

"Thanks." Gordon stepped out into nothing and allowed the feed-out line to take his weight. When he was satisfied that the suction unit was indeed going to hold he started sliding along the line.

Scott was watching via the video camera positioned on Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. "He's looking good, Alan. Any problems?"

"No. You know Gordon. When it comes to work he's a total professional. He's left his troubles onboard Thunderbird Two."

"Glad to hear it."

"Hi," Gordon greeted 'Superman'. "Let's see about securing you to this first." He busied himself attaching the victim's harness to the feed-line. Then he made a point of attaching a safety line. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Clark Kent."

Gordon looked at him. "You're kidding me!"

"I'm not… well… it is a nickname, my real names Mark Dent, but I've been known as Clark Kent for as long as I can remember. That's why the producer thought I was ideal for this role."

"I'll bet you're glad you took it on now."

'Superman' said nothing.

Gordon spoke into his microphone. "Okay, Alan. He's hooked up. I'm going to start by cutting loose his cape."

"F-A-B."

"Can you give me more height?"

"Hang on… Scott, Gordon needs more height. Can you winch us up a metre?"

"F-A-B. Confirm rise one metre."

"Check."

The elevator car started to move skywards.

Sylvia clearly did not approve of the Tracys' escape from home. She sent a gust of wind which caught the elevator car, jerking it outwards and pulling the suction cup away from the building's wall.

Gordon found himself falling towards the Earth, 275 metres below. His safety line caught and held, leaving him dangling underneath the elevator car. "Alan! What happened?"

"Gordon! Are you all right?" He heard Alan's yell in his earpiece.

"I'm fine. Just giving Clark Kent a lesson in the necessity of safety equipment."

"Who?"

"It's Superman's real name."

"You're kidding me!"

"That's what I said." Gordon felt the winch kick into action and he was brought up to the elevator car, the suction cup dangling below. "What happened?"

"Wind gust." Alan pulled Gordon into the elevator car. "I think Sylvia's annoyed with us."

An anxious voice was heard over the radio. "Are you okay, Gordon?"

"Fine, Scott. Get Virg to hold her still will you."

"Don't blame me. Blame Sylvia."

"I'm willing to blame Sylvia for lots of things." Gordon watched as Alan reloaded the suction cup's gun. "Make sure it sticks this time."

Alan bit back a retort. "Are you ready to go out again?"

"Yep. Aim higher than last time and we'll try to keep the line on the horizontal."

"F-A-B."

The line shot out and Alan tested that it was held securely. "Ready when you are, Gordon."

Moments later Gordon was once again cutting at 'Superman's' uniform.

* * *

Up in Thunderbird Two's flight deck things were a lot less exciting.

"What's that you're humming, Virg?"

"Huh? Oh… I've got one line of some old song running over and over again in my mind. I can't get rid of it."

"What's the lyric?"

"'You don't pull on Superman's cape'. I can't remember the rest."

Scott chuckled. "Someone forgot to tell Gordon."

* * *

The cape fell free, becoming even more of a menace as it flapped about, flicking at both men's faces. "Let's get rid of this thing," Gordon grunted as a corner nipped against his cheek.

"It's sewn into the costume," 'Superman' told him.

"We'll soon fix that," Gordon grinned and set to work with his cutter again. He made quick work of the cape and it blew out of his fingers and whirled away out of sight. "Now I want you to fold your arms against your chest…"

"Why?" an obviously nervous 'Superman' asked.

"So if you fall you won't catch your arms on any of these cables… Don't worry," Gordon added, seeing even more fear flash across 'Superman's' face, "You won't fall any further than I did. That's why I've attached the safety line to your harness."

"I… I… I'm gonna…" Without warning 'Superman' expelled the contents of his stomach forcing Gordon to swing out of the way. "Sorry," he said sheepishly as he wiped his mouth. "I guess I'm suffering from a little air sickness."

"Doesn't worry me. I only hope no one's below us."

'Superman' gave a nervous giggle.

Gordon cut through one of the original horizontal support lines with a small laser and 'Superman' dropped a few centimetres. "Now for the other side…" The laser made short work of the second support line. "Bring him in, Alan."

"F-A-B."

'Superman' was dragged to safety, where, assisted by Alan, he scrambled into the elevator car and sat in the corner breathing heavily. A short time later he found himself in the hold of Thunderbird Two. At this point, realising that he was out of danger, he appeared to regain his equilibrium. "Can I have a look around?"

"No," he was told.

After a short trip to drop the errant 'super hero' off to the safety of the rescue services, Scott turned to his brothers. "Okay, fellas. Let's head home."

"Everyone buckled up?" Virgil asked and received three replies to the affirmative.

"Floor it, Virgil," Alan requested. "Let's beat Sylvia."

"She's already made landfall," Scott told him. "Right, John?"

"Afraid so. The centre of the eye passed over Tracy Island about 32 minutes ago. I reckon you've got 25 minutes of clear air in which to get home. How long did it take you to get there, Virg."

"25 minutes."

"Nothing like cutting it fine," Alan said. "At least gravity's on our side this time."

"And as the winds in the outer spiral bands are light enough to fly through, we can climb through them," Virgil added.

"Whatever you do, don't get caught in the left front quadrant," John warned. "You don't want to get pulled into Sylvia's path."

"F-A-B."

The brothers were silent for a time as the weather alternated between moments of relatively calm air and bands of heavy rain. As time went by the light patches became more infrequent and the stormy ones grew progressively stronger.

"We're reaching the overflow," Virgil warned. "Wind change coming up!" Thunderbird Two jerked in his hands as the winds reversed direction and they found themselves flying through thin and wispy cirrus clouds.

"How long have we got, John?" Scott asked.

"Approximately fourteen minutes."

Scott saw his brother frown. "How far away are we, Virg?"

"Fourteen point six minutes."

Thunderbird Two broke through the cloud cover and into clear air.

"Put your boot down, Virgil," Alan commanded. "We've got to beat her."

"We'll gain time when we're descending into the eye," Virgil reminded his brothers. "But if we're not going to be able to make it, I'll have to follow the path of the eye to fly out again."

"You can do it," Gordon said with confidence.

Ominous looking cloud passed beneath them at speed. Above them the sky was blue and clear.

Virgil pointed ahead. "There's the eye. Anyway want to change their mind?"

"Negative."

"Uh, uh."

"No way."

"Okay. We're going in." The cloud opened up beneath them and Virgil pointed his plane into the abyss. They began to descend in a spiralling motion, keeping the eye wall visible through their starboard windows. A streak of lightning lit up the pilot's cabin.

"Why does the phrase 'rats in a drainpipe' keep going through my mind?" Gordon asked.

"Because you and a rat have a lot in common," Alan told him.

"Thank you. Highly intelligent and resourceful. I can live with that."

"Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Two. Where are you, Virgil?"

"Right above you, Father."

"That eye wall looks mighty close."

"I have a visual," Scott was peering at a video image. "He's right. We're running out of time."

"We'll make it," Virgil said grimly. "Just make sure you're buckled up securely."

"Don't take any chances," Scott warned. "If it's safer to pull out, do so."

"Don't worry. I've no intention of risking our lives," Virgil adjusted the angle of descent.

"Can we all get a look?" Gordon requested. "Bring it up on the monitor."

An image flashed up on screen. A patch of ocean around which circled several dots, the largest of which was Tracy Island. Framing the scene was the wall of Cyclone Sylvia's eye.

More lightning shot through the cyclone's grey, thunderous cloud.

"How far's the wall from home?" Gordon asked, as he watched the monitor, almost mesmerised by the island's hypnotic motion.

"Five ks," Scott said. "And closing."

The dot grew bigger.

The cyclone's wall grew closer.

A bolt of lightning lit up the island.

They could make out the peaks, valleys, bays and, finally, some of the man-made features of their home. The seas were pounding against the rocks and white water was running over the runway.

"Three ks," Scott intoned.

"Us or it?" Alan asked.

"It."

"Half a lap should to do it," Virgil said.

"Two kilometres."

In the distance, out the port windows, they could see Tracy Island.

"One kilometre. It's too close! By the time we've landed and reversed into the hangar…"

"I'm sorry, Boys. But I'm going to have to close the hangar door. We can't risk it being caught by the wind."

"No!" Virgil almost yelled. "We can do it!" He lined his plane up with the runway.

Lightning raced across the sky.

"Point five of a kilometre. Pull out, Virg!" The brothers could almost feel Cyclone Sylvia breathing down their necks as she chased after them.

"Not yet…" Thunderbird Two surged under them as Virgil applied more power. Ahead they could see the internal hangar door start to swing back up to seal its opening. The space available to them was steadily getting smaller and it seemed that the cliff was growing in stature.

A flash of lightning threw interior of the hangar into sharp relief.

Virgil flew the giant transporter metres above length of the runway, watching his target shrink in size.

"Virgil…!" Scott started to say, but Virgil had applied the retros. Thunderbird Two squeezed between the cliff face and the closing hangar door, her forward momentum was arrested, and she hung in the air for a moment before settling gently onto the hangar floor.

The door shut behind them as the deluge touched down. Palm two was torn from its nutrient container and tossed into the ocean.

Virgil flicked a few switches and the great craft fell silent. "Easy," he said, as if he'd just parked a mini in a garage the size of the QEII. "We'll let the exhaust gases dissipate and then we can leave." He started the diagnostics programme before turning to face his brothers. Their faces all held similar expressions of disbelief.

He opened his mouth to say something when an alert from the console caused him to turn back. "Father?"

"Who was flying Thunderbird Two!"

Virgil looked at his father's image in puzzlement. "I was."

"You were…" Jeff's face melted into the same expression as that of three of his sons. "Virgil…" he said quietly. "I'll want to talk to you later."

"Yes…" Virgil hadn't managed to say 'Sir' before his father's image had disappeared from the screen.

Gordon eventually found his voice. "Could someone help me unhook my fingers from this seat?"

"Only if someone will do the same for me," Alan replied.

Scott stared at the number '2' painted on the hangar wall, seemingly only inches away from his nose. "Now I know why I usually travel in my own plane."

"Come on, Guys. It wasn't that bad," Virgil protested.

Scott shook his head as if her were trying to clear it of the memory of what he'd just experienced. "Virgil… That was irresponsible, injudicious, stupid, ill-advised, out of character, astonishing, astounding, amazing and very, very impressive... And if you were one of my subordinates in the Air Force, I'd have your wings stripped from you."

"I did only what you would have done."

"Maybe in Thunderbird One, she's light, fast and manoeuvrable. But Thunderbird Two…!"

"She's as light, fast and manoeuvrable as the Empire State Building," Gordon elucidated.

"I don't know why you guys are complaining," Virgil said. "I got you home safely, didn't I? Isn't that what you wanted?"

Alan stood. "I'm going to get changed. That landing was a little too close for comfort."

* * *

The lounge was gloomy after the artificial brightness of the elevator lights. The titanium shutters had slid shut again cutting out the view of the driving rains.

Scott, Gordon and Alan were met by their father. "How was the rescue?"

"Less exciting than the trip home," Alan told him.

"Piece of cake," Gordon added. "I could have done it in my sleep."

"For a while I thought you were going to test that theory," Alan informed him. "Then you woke up."

Virgil was the last to enter the lounge. He ended up face to face with a disapproving father. "Virgil! What were you playing at?"

"We had to get home…"

"You didn't have to risk all your necks to do so!"

"I wouldn't have attempted it if I hadn't thought I could have pulled it off."

"That's beside the point! Were you trying to prove that you're fit enough to pilot that plane again? Because I'm beginning to get my doubts!"

"I…"

"It was a dangerous manoeuvre! Thank heavens your Grandmother didn't see it. She would have insisted that I keep you grounded... and I would have agreed with her!"

"Sorry, Father…"

"Sorry? Virgil, if I ever see you do anything like that again, I'll banish you up to Thunderbird Five from August 14th till December 26th...! And that goes for any of you!"

"Yes, Sir," Virgil sounded chastened.

"What's so great about August 15th?" Alan asked Gordon.

Gordon shrugged. "Beats me."

"Why didn't you order him to pull out, Scott?"

"Because by the time I'd got as far as 'V' we were inside the hangar."

Jeff took a deep breath and tried to cool his temper.

"Any problems back here?" Scott asked.

"No," Jeff shook his head and looked at his sons. "Go get changed, Boys. We need to make some decisions…"

_To be continued…_


	11. Decisions

**Ten: Decisions**

The door to the storm shelter slid open and a uniformed Scott Tracy strode inside. "On your feet," he ordered. "You're coming with me."

"Do we have any option?" Ned struggled to retain his air of calm insolence as he obeyed the order. "No, 'if you please' or 'thank you'?"

"No," Scott snarled.

"Just where are we going?" Joe asked.

"The lounge." Then Scott softened his tone. "Coming, Grandma? Kyrano?"

"As you wish, Mister Scott," Kyrano bowed.

"Have you made a decision?" Grandma enquired.

"Oh, yes…" Scott glared at the interlopers. "We've made a decision." He took a firm grip on their shoulders and guided them towards the lounge, leading them to a couch in the middle of the room and forcing them to sit down. "Stay there."

"Is this the way International Rescue usually treats its guests?" Ned asked, and was rewarded with another glare.

"Wh-Where's everyone else," an obviously nervous Joe enquired.

"Getting ready. They're making some last minute preparations."

"Preparations for what…" Joe began but Scott had departed.

The two reporters were left alone.

"What are they going to do?" Joe asked his friend. "What are they doing now?"

"Probably mixing the concrete."

"Ned!"

"It's a joke, Joe... I wonder why they've left us unattended. They must be feeling pretty sure that they've got the upper hand."

"Upper hand? There's a cyclone howling outside, we're trapped on an island, and we've no way of escaping! I definitely think they've got the upper hand!"

"Calm down…" Ned was looking around. "The shutters are still across the windows, so the cyclone hasn't moved on." He looked behind them. "Eight chairs…" He turned back to the front and gazed at the imposing desk. "Tracy's a master of psychology. When they come in here they're going to surround us." He shifted his gaze to the row of portraits of the Tracy boys in uniform. "I wonder what secrets this room could reveal…"

He didn't get the chance to find out as the Tracy family filed in. In a show of solidarity all the boys, including Brains, were in fresh uniforms. Tin-Tin was wearing a pants suit created out of International Rescue blue cloth and her father's traditional silken robes were in the same shade. Grandma Tracy's contribution was to wear a dress of sky blue. Without a word they all took their places, as Ned had expected, behind the two reporters. Jeff Tracy, obviously in command in his gold trimmed uniform, stood at his desk and faced the assembled group.

'We're on trial…' Ned thought. 'Except we're going to hear the sentence before we get the chance to present our case.' Twisting in his seat, he noticed that despite their position of power, Gordon's brothers still appeared to be protecting him. The auburn haired Tracy stood in front of a chair, twisting his hands together anxiously as Alan moved to his left, Scott to his right, and Virgil stood in front. Brains and Kyrano took up position to the right of this group, while the two ladies placed themselves on the left.

Jeff sat down and, as if in response to a silent order, the rest of the group followed suit.

"Gentlemen…" Jeff began and stopped mid-sentence when Ned held up his hand.

"Just a minute!"

"You have something you wish to say, Mr Cook?"

"Yes. You say you are a fair man, Tracy."

Jeff said nothing.

Ned continued on. "I've always assumed that when a man is on trial or is being court-martialled, he is allowed to face those who are judging him. That is he can see their faces just as they can see his."

"Yes?" Jeff said.

"So, don't you think… in the interests of fairness… we should be allowed to see all those judging us?"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning… I'm assuming that John is watching proceedings from Thunderbird Five," Ned indicated the row of portraits. "In the interests of 'fairness', we should we be allowed to watch him just as he is watching us."

Jeff thought briefly. "Very well," he agreed. "John!"

"Sir." John's photo disappeared and Ned and Joe saw the man. Behind him was a bank of computers; in his hand he held a microphone.

"Good afternoon, John." Ned said. "Nice to meet you at last."

"Mr Cook," John acknowledged.

"Please, call me Ned."

John remained silent.

"Gentlemen," Jeff repeated. "Before we begin, I have one thing that I must say. I want you to know that I am proud of each and every one of my sons. Gordon could have won his gold medal in synchronised swimming and then chosen flower arranging as a career and I still would have been proud of him. That he… that all of my sons have chosen to be part of International Rescue, has had no bearing on the way I feel about any of them. Is that clear?"

"Yep," Ned said laconically, as Joe nodded like a wind up toy.

"Good. Now, obviously, the question has arisen as to what we are going to do now that you know our secret. The suggestion was made that we put you back into your hover-plane and let you take your chances with Cyclone Sylvia…"

Joe cast Ned a worried look, but the reporter maintained his cool, arrogant, manner.

"…But obviously that is not an option. We have come to a decision, but first we would like to know exactly why you came here. Did you have any suspicions as to who we are?"

Ned decided that, for the moment at least, he would play along. "I had my suspicions… but nothing to do with International Rescue."

Jeff frowned. "Then what?"

"I was suspicious about you, Jeff Tracy. You're too good to be true. You hide away on your tropical paradise with your sons and your entourage, earning billions and giving away nearly as much! No one's that good. There had to be a catch."

"And that catch would have been?"

Ned shrugged. "That's what I was trying to find out."

"So the TV series was only a ruse to get here?"

Ned could almost feel Gordon relax. "Oh, no. The TV series is genuine. As far as the bosses are concerned, Joe and I are researching some has-been swimmer…" there was a slight movement behind him as someone showed disapproval at the description, "…for a cute and fluffy sports show. I figured that we may as well take the opportunity to do some real journalism. Show our bosses that we're still capable of finding and presenting the real stories." He turned in his seat so he was facing one of the men behind him. "You can relate to that, can't you, Virgil? You were desperate to prove that you were still capable of flying Thunderbird Two, weren't you?"

"Was I?" Virgil asked. "Why?"

"Because the USN Sentinel shot you down."

"The Sentinel? Now why would it do a thing like that?" Virgil asked. "What possible reason would the command of the Sentinel have for shooting a Thunderbird down?"

"You tell me."

"Our craft are of no threat to anyone," Virgil reminded him.

"Are you telling me it didn't happen? That your accident, where you were, in your words, 'in the wrong place at the wrong time'; that this accident wasn't you being shot out of the sky?"

"You're the one telling the story, Mr Cook," Virgil challenged. "You tell us why the Sentinel would shoot down one of International Rescue's aircraft."

"Mr Cook," Jeff interrupted. Ned turned back to face him and didn't see Scott give Virgil a congratulatory pat on the back. "What has Virgil's accident got to do with the situation we're in now?"

"It's…" Ned began and then stopped. "Nothing," he admitted.

"Shall we move on then?"

Ned nodded.

"So you were trying to find some dirt on me," Jeff said. "Such as?"

"I don't know."

"He gets these funny feelings when he thinks he's onto something," Joe interrupted. "More often than not he's right."

Ned wished his colleague hadn't spoken.

"Intuition?" Jeff queried. "So what did this 'funny feeling' tell you about me, Mr Cook?"

Ned gave Joe a dirty look. "It didn't tell me anything precisely. It told me there was a story here on this island that was worth researching. Initially, because we were doing a story on the Olympics I thought that perhaps there was a question mark over your sponsorship of the drug testing. I learnt that Gordon was your son, and wondered if you'd supplied him with the drugs that enabled him to win his gold medal…"

"What!"

The vocal explosion made Ned and Joe turn in their seats.

Gordon was on his feet. "You thought I took drugs!"

"You were the youngest…"

"I would never take drugs! Not to win a swimming race!" Gordon's face was reddening in anger.

"I didn't know that!"

"And you thought my father supplied them to me! That I had to have his help to win my gold medal!" Now Gordon's face was so red, that his hair appeared pale in comparison.

"Sit down, Gordon," his father said.

"That's ridiculous! That's like saying that Scott got his Air Force medals because of our father!"

"Sit down, Gordon," Scott said.

"Or that John got his laser communications degree from Harvard because of our father!"

"Sit down, Gordon," John insisted.

"Or that Alan won his motor racing trophies because of our father!"

There was an inevitable, "Sit down, Gordon," from Alan.

"Or that Virgil…" Gordon opened his mouth to say more and then looked blankly at his older brother. "Um…"

"My résumé in a nutshell," Virgil sighed. "Sit down, Gordon."

"I won't sit down!" Gordon snapped. "He's made me forgot that you… you…" he clicked his fingers trying to remember. "You achieved something!"

"Graduated top of the class at Denver?" Alan prompted and was shushed by his Grandmother.

"Yeah! That! And you did it without Dad's help!"

"Thank you, Gordon," Jeff said. "I think we've ascertained that you boys are all talented, hardworking…"

"But he's accusing me of cheating! He's accused you of cheating!"

"I didn't know what to think," Ned began. "I just knew…"

"You know nothing! You don't know what hard work went into getting that medal. You don't know the sacrifices I made! I didn't even eat anything with poppy seeds in it for the month before the meet, for fear of returning a positive test for opiates!"

"That's right, he didn't," Grandma confirmed.

Gordon didn't skip a beat. "You don't know about the parties I missed. You don't know about the things that I didn't get to do that other kids my age were enjoying. You don't know the hours I slaved away in that pool…"

Scott stood, laying a hand gently on his furious brother's shoulder. He spoke in a soothing manner. "Calm down, Gordon."

"I won't calm down! You and I have had to spend the last five days trapped underground because of these morons. You heard him! He accused me of cheating!"

"I heard him," Scott said. "And I know he's wrong. Now, you've said your piece so sit down."

But Gordon was still seething in anger. "You know how hard I worked for that medal! You were the one who drove me to the pool for the early morning training sessions. You're the one who drove me to the interstate meets when Dad was unavailable. You're the one who said we should pack these two in their 'plane and let Cyclone Sylvia do what she wanted with them!"

For a moment Scott looked uncomfortable. "I know I did. I didn't mean it. I was angry…"

"Well, I'm angry now! And I think it's a brilliant idea."

"No you don't," Scott reminded him.

"Gordon…" Ned began.

"Why couldn't you have left us in peace?" Gordon interrupted, pointing an accusatory finger at the reporter. "You can't help yourself, can you! You've no scruples, poking your nose into other people's business."

Ned didn't disagree with the young man.

"You even snooped around my room." Gordon gave a sarcastic laugh. "Ha! You think I don't know. You thought you were so clever, but I saw you."

"Gordon…" Scott warned, his voice still quiet, but his hand tightened its grip on his brother's shoulder.

"You touched my gold medal!"

"Gordon!" Scott repeated, more urgent this time.

But Gordon wasn't listening. "Nobody touches that medal except me! And you can't deny that you touched it. I was in there and I saw you!"

As one three of his brothers groaned.

The sound appeared to penetrate through Gordon's fury. All the anger drained from his face and he cast an anxious look towards his father. Then, like an automaton whose power source had been disconnected, he sat down and stared at the floor.

In the subsequent silence Scott reclaimed his own seat.

"Now that Gordon has got that off his chest," Jeff said, as though Gordon had merely been commenting on the foul weather. "I should like to know what you gentlemen are planning to do with this information."

"That depends on what you are going to do with us," Ned said.

"There is nothing we can do," Jeff admitted, "except ask that you remember that we try to keep our identities and location secret as much for the world's sake as for our own."

Joe leant forward. "So you're going to let us go?"

Jeff nodded.

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"No hypnotism, or brain washing, or memory erasing?"

Jeff chuckled. "You've been reading too many science fiction stories."

"Let me get this straight," Ned said. "As soon as the cyclone passes you're going to let us go free and trust us not to give away your secret?"

"That's right," Jeff agreed.

"You want us to tell people that we got trapped by the storm, had an uneventful time staying with you and your family, were unable to get Gordon's interview, and then came home again empty handed?"

"Yes."

"You're asking us to forgo the biggest story this decade?"

"I am."

"You're asking a lot, Jeff Tracy. Can you imagine what the reaction would be if we went back to the States and said 'We know who International Rescue are'?"

"It would be big news."

"Big? Can you imagine the journalism awards we'd receive?"

Jeff nodded.

"Do you know that there are publications out there that would give us millions just to have the slightest hint as to where International Rescue is based?"

"Unfortunately, I do know," Jeff admitted.

"And you expect us to give up all that?"

"I… We were hoping you would."

"Do you honestly believe that we would walk away from the biggest story of our lives…?"

The next vocal explosion came from an unexpected quarter. "Ned Cook!"

Ned looked at his partner. "Joe?"

"I don't believe you! These people saved our necks. If it wasn't for them you and I wouldn't be here today!"

"I'm aware of that…"

"And not only us. Look at all the other lives they've saved."

"I know, Joe."

"That you could even THINK of doing a story on them!"

"I…"

Joe was looking as furious as Gordon had been. "I'm telling you, Ned. If you so much as expose one hair of any of these people I'm asking to work with Sid Lowe!"

"But you hate Sid! You said he had the all journalist ability of a slug."

"Hello," Alan said in a stage whisper to Tin-Tin. "There's trouble in paradise."

Joe didn't hear him as he continued ranting at Ned. "And so he does. But at least he's an honest slug. He wouldn't jeopardise the future safety of goodness knows how many people just for a story!"

"I…"

"He wouldn't disregard a debt of honour!"

"Joe…"

The sudden wail of an alarm had an electrifying effect on the Tracys. "Storm surge!"

Forgetting his and Joe's dispute, Ned looked around him. "Come on… You've already tried that one on us. Don't think you can do it again."

"It's for real this time," Jeff told him. "Let's see it, John."

"F-A-B." Virgil's portrait disappeared leaving a shot of the runway. It was submerged beneath raging seawater, which appeared to be half way up the cliff towards landing control. "It's still climbing… Up one metre… Two… Still climbing…"

"Right! Activating Operation Storm Surge - You all know what you have to do," Jeff instructed. Then, as everyone ran for the door, he turned to Ned and Joe. "You two go to the storm shelters and stay there until you're told it's safe."

"Can't we help…?" Ned started saying.

"No! Everyone else will be along as soon as they've done their duty." Jeff was pushing some buttons on his computer as he spoke. When that was done he stood and vacated his desk. "Go now!" he ordered as he dashed out the door.

"How do you like that?" Ned asked. "One order from Jeff Tracy and he expects us to jump to attention as if we're part of his entourage."

"It's good advice though, isn't it?" Joe suggested. "We know now that we can't do anything to help them. At least we'd be safe in the storm shelters."

"How bad is it going to get?" Ned asked. "They can't really expect the water to climb this high." They jogged along the hallway in the now familiar direction of the storm shelters.

Joe pulled up short. "Hey! Look!"

"What?" Ned skidded to a stop and returned to see what had captured the attention of his friend. He noticed that a door off the hallway was ajar.

"Look," Joe repeated, pointing into the now open room. "My camera!" He reached into the storeroom and grabbed the photographic equipment before examining it quickly. "Seems to be okay."

"Okay for what?"

"Filming!" Joe hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and headed for the door.

"Filming? Joe, you hypocrite! Only minutes ago you were telling me off for..."

'"I don't want to film International Rescue," Joe rejoined.

"Then what?"

"The storm, Ned. What else? Maybe I can salvage some pride for us from this whole sorry saga. Can you imagine what the footage of a storm surge is going to be like?"

"How are you going to film?" Ned asked. "All the windows are covered with those titanium shutters."

"Easy. I'll slip outside."

"Outside? Joe, it might have escaped your notice, but there's a monster of a storm raging out there!"

"That's the point. Besides, I reckon that if we sneak out on this side of the house there'll be some shelter for us. Remember there was on the other side of the house when they were rescuing Tin-Tin, and that was during Sylvia's first pass. The wind'll be coming from the other direction now."

"Sounds dangerous to me, Joe," Ned warned.

"Since when did you become an old woman, Ned?"

"Since a 102 storey building fell on us and buried us alive."

"We'll be okay," Joe insisted. "Are you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming," Ned agreed, trying not to sound reluctant. "Lead the way."

They managed to sneak their way through the house without bumping into any of the Tracys or their friends. "Here," Ned stopped at the shuttered patio doors. "Here's the control panel for the titanium sheets. Why don't we open them and then you can shoot through the windows?"

Joe vetoed the suggestion. "And all we'll see is water running down the glass. I've got to get outside..." He led the way to a door. "Help me open this."

Ned knew that once the cameraman had his mind set on taking a particular shot, nothing would dissuade him from attempting it. "Okay... But be careful."

Joe grinned. "Okay, Grandma."

Together they pulled the door open. "Whew! Joe exclaimed. "That wind fair takes your breath away."

"Then don't go out there," Ned suggested. "Shoot from the doorway."

Joe gave Ned a look of disgust and stepped from the security of the house. "Hold onto my belt and don't let go!" he yelled above the screaming wind. Ned did as he was bid, hanging on grimly, the stinging rains pounding and soaking his clothes and skin. Joe shuffled further out into the storm. "Can you move a bit more, Ned?"

"Okay," Ned said through gritted teeth. "Hurry up and get your shot!"

"This is amazing!" Joe lined up the camera and started rolling the film. "Look at it!" he shouted. "The Pacific Ocean's at our feet!"

Blinking against the rain, Ned peered downwards. It did indeed appear that the waters of that mighty ocean had risen up so that they swirled around the villa's foundations, trapping bits of debris and slamming them against the house.

"You've got your footage," Ned yelled. "Come inside. The Tracys will be looking for us."

But Joe was caught up in the adrenaline buzz of filming on the edge of danger. "I can't see enough," he yelled in frustration. Help me out a little further."

"No!" Ned replied. "It's too dangerous!"

"Then let me go," Joe hit the reporter's hands, forcing him to relinquish their grip on his belt. "I'll be better off by myself."

"Joe..." Ned began to protest, but his words were whipped away by a violent gust of wind.

As was Joe...

_To be continued..._


	12. It Never Rains

**Eleven: It never rains…**

"Father!"

Jeff, the last person to arrive at the storm shelter, was waylaid by his eldest son in the hallway. "What, Scott?"

"We don't know where Cook and Co are."

"What! Where were they last seen?"

"Unless you've seen them later, in the lounge."

Jeff shook his head in exasperation. "I sent them here. They obviously didn't listen to me. Where's everyone else?"

"In the shelters," Scott admitted.

"Okay… Organise a search party. I'll take the lounge."

"F-A-B."

* * *

"Joe!" Ned called into the blinding rain. "Joe! Answer me!"

The only answer was the scream of the wind.

"Joe!" Ned tried again.

There was nothing except the wind and the roar of the water lashing at the house beneath his feet.

Soaking wet, Ned retreated inside. He could only assume that his friend had been swept away. From what he'd been able to see of the churning waters the current was heading towards the front of the villa. If he could get onto the patio then maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to pull Joe out.

He ran for the lounge.

"Cook!" He heard someone yell from the hall. "What are you doing? Head for the shelters!"

"It's Joe," Ned yelled, making a beeline for the titanium shutter's manual controls. "He's fallen into the water... Outside…" he added belatedly as he reached for the switch.

Jeff stepped into the room and saw what the reporter had in mind. "Don't touch...!"

He was too late. With a low rumble the shutters started to retract. "Stop them!" Jeff ordered and broke into a run.

The titanium shutters had done their job well. However the plexiglass doors were less adept at maintaining their integrity against Cyclone Sylvia. Jeff was no more than two steps into his run towards the controls when the, now exposed, doors blew inwards. The resulting inward rush of air sent Jeff flying backwards and he slammed up against the wall beneath Gordon's photograph. He held up his arms, protecting himself against the plexiglass shards, as a chair mimicked his flight before splintering itself against the wall under Alan's portrait.

"Dad!" Gordon, closely followed by Alan, came to his father's aid.

"I'm - all - right," an obviously winded Jeff managed to gasp out.

Seeing that his two youngest brothers had one crisis under control, Scott sought to resolve another. The panel that hid Thunderbird One's hangar had been pushed open, leaving the gunmetal grey rocket plane exposed to the world. "Give me a hand," he yelled at Virgil putting his shoulder to the panel.

Even their combined efforts were ineffectual against the wind.

"Leave it!" Jeff ordered, struggling, with Gordon and Alan's assistance, to his feet. "Joe's outside."

"He's what?" Scott fought against the wind as he tried to make his way to the patio. "This is impossible! Virgil! Alan! Go get the hurricane gear."

Ned, when the wind had roared inside, had been blown into the area that contained Jeff's desk. He was struggling to fight his way out of the constrained space when Scott crawled over to him. "Joe's outside!"

"I know! What happened? Where is he?"

"He wanted to film the storm. The wind caught him and blew him into the water."

"Water!"

"Yeah," Ned nodded frantically. "The house is surrounded by water."

"How deep?"

"Uh..." Ned tried to remember the landmarks that he'd seen in the short time that he'd been outside before the cyclone hit.

"Never mind," Scott heaved himself up so he was able to reach the desk, which had already been stripped of all its papers and smaller items. Deciding not to chance his father's computer, he flipped a switch and the eagle ornament flew up, coming loose from its housing in the process. As it flapped about, tethered only by the wires that connected the microphone to the rest of its circuitry, Scott tried to raise his brother. "Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Five."

John came on line. His eyes widened when he saw the damage that was being inflicted on his home. "Scott..."

"John! How high's the water? Joe's out in it. How high is it against the house?"

"One point five metres below the patio," John replied. "Scott, if he's out there..."

"Yeah, John, I know. Is the water still rising?"

"No. It seems to have reached its peak."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," Scott muttered. "Let us know the instant there's any change."

"You've got to help him!" Ned pulled at Scott's shirt. "You're International Rescue, do something!"

"We will," Scott tried to be reassuring as he shouted over the wind which was roaring through what had previously been the sanctuary of their lounge. "The guys are getting the gear."

"Scott!" His name had to be repeated three times before he heard it. He looked over to where Alan was beckoning him.

"Stay there," Scott instructed Ned. I'm going to get ready." He attempted to crawl to the comparative calm of the hall before deciding that it was easier to roll with the wind. He ended up crashing into the wall and was pulled to safety by his brothers. "The place is surrounded by water and Joe's fallen in," he stated as he accepted the overalls handed to him by Alan.

"Water!" Gordon ran from the hall.

"It's impossible to talk over the wind," Scott added. "We'll need full communication masks."

"Got them," Alan said and pulled open a bag.

"Better get one for Ned too," Scott suggested. "And a set of grav-gear."

"Got a pair of those for me?" Jeff asked. He was already kitted out in his own overalls.

"Are you up to it?" Scott asked.

Jeff pulled himself up and looked his eldest in the eye. "Are you saying I'm too old?"

"No. Just that that was quite a knock you took back there." Scott pulled up the fastening at the front of his overalls. "Everyone ready?" he asked as he donned his mask.

Virgil looked at his brother's overalls seeing the International Rescue logo. Then he looked down at his own, which were still covered by bits of masking tape. "If this is going to be our last rescue," he said tugging at the tape on his chest, "then I'm going down with the flag flying proudly."

"Me too," Alan agreed, ripping the already partly detached tape from his front. "No need to hide now."

Gordon came running up to them, pulling up the back of his wetsuit as he did so. "What's the action, Scott?"

"First thing we do is find Joe," Scott's grim manner told them that he didn't hold out much hope. "Alan, take the laser and get rid of the balustrade. Gordon, bring the victim locator. I'll try to close the shutters. Virgil, you get Ned to safety and then stay back here in case we need more equipment. It's too hard to fight against that wind to risk sending someone back and forth." He picked up a cable, securely tethered one end and then hefted it over his shoulder. "You can send the required gear along this, okay?"

"F-A-B," Virgil replied.

Alan was already crawling lizard-like against the wind to the patio doors. He wore grav-boots and grav-gloves, devices that allowed him to maintain his grip on the floor. He came to the step that marked the piano's platform and adjusted the laser strapped to his back before he started to crawl to the upper level. The wind hit him full in the face, nearly forcing him back, but the grav-gloves took hold and he moved forward again.

Virgil, using the same lizard-like action, made his way over to the desk. There he came across a drenched and windblown Ned Cook, trapped in the alcove formed by the desk. "Here!" Virgil shouted through his mask and the howling wind. He held out a duplicate mask. "Put this on."

Whether he heard him or not, Ned seemed to understand and took the proffered mask. With some difficulty and Virgil's help, he managed to slip it over his head and into position.

"Can you hear me?" Virgil asked.

"Yes," Ned nodded his head frantically. "You've got to help Joe!"

"Don't worry, we've got that under control," Virgil tried to be reassuring. "Put these on," he handed over a set of grav-boots and grav-gloves, "and I'll get you to safety."

Ned looked at the strange garments. "Why do I have to wear these?"

"When they touch something a force field is turned on and they adhere to the surface of the object. There's a switch inside the thumb of the gloves, and above the big toe, which temporarily turns off the force field and allows you to move." Virgil helped Ned pull on one of the gloves. "It takes a bit of getting used to. Put your hand flat on the floor."

Ned did so. "I can't move it."

"Good. Now find the switch..."

Ned's hand flew free.

Virgil gave him a brief lesson in how to use the boots and then pointed to the door leading to the hallway. "That's where we're going..."

"But Joe..."

"We'll only be in the way. There's not much room out there..."

* * *

Alan had reached the patio. Maintaining his low profile on the stucco floor he activated a grav-pack on the front of his overalls. When he was sure that he was practically glued to the ground he slid the laser around from his back, wrestling with it until it was pointed in front of him. His grav-gloves maintaining a firm grip on the gun he pointed it at the base of the balustrade. One quick pull on the trigger and the metal disintegrated. After the vaporisation of the second support the balustrade began to lean drunkenly.

"How's it going, Son?" He heard his father's voice in his ear.

"Grandma's not going to be too pleased," Alan grunted as yet another support disintegrated.

"She'll understand. Any sign of Joe?"

"I haven't had a chance to look," Alan admitted. "I can't see through the balustrade with this wind and rain. He switched off the laser and used the instrument to push at the ironwork. It fell forward into the water with a splash. "Can anyone see him?"

"I've got the victim finder," Gordon said. "If he's within the area of the courtyard I'll spot him."

"IF he's within the area of the courtyard," Alan clarified. "What if he's been washed further away?"

* * *

Scott had succeeded in making the trip to the shutter's manual controls. Using the grav-gloves to assist him in standing, he pressed the buttons that started the shutters closing again. His plan was to close them until most of the room was protected while still leaving a reasonable sized area to pass through. The plan was thwarted when the shutters moved a quarter of the way across the windows and jammed in the shattered plexiglass. He gave up and crawled outside...

* * *

Ned had mastered the grav-gear well enough to crawl three quarters of the way across the room. He was nearly at the door when he realised that the strength of the wind had been dramatically reduced. Looking towards the patio doors he saw that, at least in part, the shutters were doing their job. Inspired, he changed direction.

"Hey!" Virgil yelled after him. "Where are you going?"

"To get Joe!"

On what remained of the patio four figures peered out through the gloom.

"Can you see anything, Gordon?" Scott asked.

Gordon had the eyepiece of the victim finder pressed to his facemask. "Nothing yet... What is that?"

"What's what?" Alan asked, shielding his mask against the water that was pouring down it and obscuring much of his view.

"There," Gordon pointed. "Halfway across the courtyard."

"I think I see what you mean," Scott said. "It's like a big slab of concrete sticking up in the air."

"How big?" Jeff asked.

"It's almost like there's another building out there, but it's not quite square," Gordon was still searching for Joe. "Hang on..."

"What?" he received a simultaneous reply from his three relatives.

"At the base of that thing, whatever it is... I think I can see Joe. What do you think, Alan?" he handed the scanner to his brother.

"Yep," Alan peered through the victim locator. "That's him. He's caught on whatever that thing is."

"I see him." Scott pointed towards the base of the unknown object.

Jeff strained to see something other than the rain and the remains of what had once been his tropical paradise. Then all of sudden he could see it. Something large, flat and grey in colour, standing up against the skyline. Then looking down to where the water lapped against the object he could just make out a man's head, bobbing in the water.

"Virgil!" Scott was ordering. "We're gonna need the winch and two lines. Not the 'Suckers', they're not long enough. Get the heavy duty one. Once you've got that get the spare streamlined scuba cartridge and the stretcher... Just in case."

There was a reply of "F-A-B" in his earpiece and a short time later there was a tug on the cable. Jeff and his sons, fighting against the winds, managed to pull the winch into position.

"Here, Gordon," Scott handed his brother a harness. "Are you able to put this on?"

"I think I'll need a hand." After a short struggle Gordon had the harness about his torso, and a streamlined scuba oxygen cartridge on his back. He edged closer to the edge and looked down. "I know I said I wanted to go for a swim, but this is ridiculous."

"If you want to back out, that's okay," Scott told him. "You're taking a risk."

"So, what's new?" Gordon replied. "Besides I've often dreamt of being able to jump from up here into the swimming pool." He looked back down into the fast flowing waters. "There's a lot of debris about, isn't there?"

"Why don't you take the stairs?" Alan suggested.

"Too exposed and I'll snag the feed-line," Gordon replied. The second scuba unit arrived on the rope. "Send it down when I'm in position," he suggested. "I'll only snag on the rubbish when I'm swimming… Okay, time to get this show on the road. Do you think you guys could lower me down? I can't stand against this wind and it's too dangerous to jump in."

With a lot of manoeuvring Gordon managed to turn so his legs were hanging over the edge and Alan and Scott had, with the grav-gloves assistance, hold of his arms. "Okay, Fellas. Let me down slowly."

"Father! Will you keep an eye out for anything dangerous in the water?" Scott requested.

"F-A-B."

The wind caught Gordon's legs and threatened to swing him under the patio. He, Alan and Scott had to fight to stop him from crashing into the concrete.

"It's clear!" Jeff yelled.

"Ready, Gordon?" Scott grunted.

"Ready, Gordon replied. "On the count of three… One… Two… Three…" He hit the water and disappeared into its murky depths. When he emerged, moments later, he was already metres away from safety.

Ned reached the shattered plexiglass window. Keeping his back to the titanium sheets he inched his way upwards until he was standing. Then, plexiglass crunching under his feet, he edged his way closer to where Cyclone Sylvia was screaming into the house.

Virgil watched the reporter in frustration, before he noticed another problem. The painting that hid his link with Thunderbird Two's cabin was tilting in the wind. As he watched the footplate rose towards the ceiling before falling back to the floor. He took another look at Ned, who was feeling his way around the edge of the titanium, and then crawled across to a couch that had managed to avoid being swept away with everything else in the lounge. Tipping the couch over so it was lying on its back was easier than he expected, and it didn't take much effort to send it sliding across the room so the back was holding the footplate on the ground. Satisfied that he'd done all it was possible to do at that moment, he crawled back to the hall and ran to the shelters to warn Brains to prepare for at least one patient.

By diving occasionally beneath larger bits of flotsam and jetsam and letting the current do much of the work, Gordon was nearing his objective. Back on the patio his family were too concerned about maintaining enough slack in the feed-line to notice Ned gingerly slide around the edge of the shutter. He stood for a moment, held upright by his grav-gloves and the force of the wind against his body, before he decided that it would be easier to mimic the others and lay down.

Gordon was pulled up suddenly. Looking behind him he saw that a tree was caught over the feed-line. "I'm stuck!"

"Are you caught on that tree?" he heard Scott ask.

"The feed-line is."

Scott thought for a second. "Can you dive beneath the water? Maybe the tree'll float over."

"Okay. I'll give it a go." Relying on his scuba cartridge to supply him with oxygen, Gordon dove down to where, only a week ago, he'd been sunning himself on a deck chair.

Scott's plan was successful and Gordon held him say, "You're clear, Gordon."

"Good. I'll stay down here for a bit. The current's strong, but at least I'm not battling the waves and winds."

"Don't forget you've only got half-an-hour of oxygen," Scott warned.

"Don't worry. That won't be far from my mind," Gordon moved forward again. As he struggled against the salty waters he came to realise that even after only five days out of the pool, he had lost condition. Swimming exercises on dry land were no substitute for the resistance of real water.

The wind was whipping at the feed-line, pulling more slack from the winch than was necessary, while at the same time pulling against the swimmer fighting his way through the water. Gordon resurfaced only metres away from Joe, panting slightly. "I'll attach the feed-line to this thing and clip Joe to it. Get ready to send down the second line and scuba gear."

Scott's "F-A-B" sounded distant in his ears.

Joe was pressed up against the slab; his eyes closed and body limp as tumultuous waves bashed him up and down its length. There was no obvious sign of life until the cameraman got a face-full of water and started choking. Relieved that the man was still alive Gordon moved closer, trying to catch the same wave.

Upon feeling his rescuer's touch, Joe began to thrash about. His flailing arms knocked Gordon's mask, nearly dislodging it from his face. Reluctantly Gordon moved back out of harm's way.

"What's he doing!" Ned yelled. "Why isn't he helping him?"

"What are you doing here?" Scott yelled back. "You idiot! Get back inside."

"Not until he's got Joe. What's he doing?"

"Joe's fight or flight instinct's kicked into action," Alan explained. "He doesn't realise that he's fighting someone who's trying to help him. If Gordon got too close now and Joe knocked Gordon's mask off, or dislodged his oxygen feed, they'd both be in trouble. Gordon will have to wait until Joe calms down."

"How long will that take…?"

As he spoke they saw Joe's thrashings weaken and watched as Gordon swam forward to keep him afloat. "Tighten up that feed-line and send down the oxygen," he demanded. "I've fixed this end to this… thing."

"On its way," Scott replied. "How's he look?"

"Bit hard to tell," Gordon was finding it difficult to maintain his hold on the victim. "I can't take any vital signs."

"How's his colour?"

"Pale. Really pale. He's in shock."

"Get some oxygen into him and see how he responds," Scott suggested as the scuba gear reached its goal.

Gordon looped the lightweight cartridge over his arm and pulled the attached mask down over Joe's face. Then, as he wrapped a rescue tube around the distressed man, Joe's face contorted and he let out an involuntary shriek of pain.

"We've got a problem, fellas," Gordon said. "He's injured."

"How? Where?" Scott asked.

"Maybe internal. Could be referred pain or anything. I can't tell. But we're gonna have to stretcher him out of the water. There's no way I'm going to let him be pulled up by this tube."

"Okay, Gordon. I'll get Virgil to get a stretcher. One of us will have to come down and help get Joe into it."

"I'll go," Alan offered.

"Thanks, Alan. Did you get that, Gordon? We'll send Alan and the stretcher down the feed-line. Do what you can to keep him comfortable in the meantime."

"It's not easy," Gordon said as Joe was pulled from his grasp. "If only it wasn't so choppy…"

While Gordon was trying to get a firm hold on the cameraman and prevent the waves from causing any injuries to either of them, Alan and Scott clipped a stretcher to the feed-line. Then Alan struggled into a harness. "I'm ready, Scott."

"Take it easy, Kiddo. Don't unclip that harness from the feed-line," Scott warned.

"Don't worry," Alan reassured him. "I don't have any breathing gear on. There's no way I'm going for a swim."

"Be careful, Son." Jeff helped Scott ease Alan over the edge of patio.

Alan was immediately caught by a gust of wind which sent him and the stretcher swaying uncontrollably. "Just as well I don't suffer from motion sickness," he muttered as he began his slow decent down to the broiling waters.

Gordon was watching his brother's progress until he realised that something large and dangerous was drifting towards him. "Incoming!" He moved so his body was between the tree and Joe.

Alan stopped his downward motion and watched helplessly as the tree bore down on his brother. It seemed that there was nothing that could avert disaster, when a wave broke over the woody plant sending it rolling away. One of the lighter branches brushed against Gordon, pushing him against Joe, before it moved on.

"Gordon!" Alan yelled. "Are you all right?"

"Alan," Jeff yelled, his vision obscured by the salt spray and never-ending rain. "What's happening?"

"Don't panic," Gordon reassured them. "I'm okay."

"What about Joe?" Ned asked.

Gordon's reply was not reassuring. "Get down here and make it snappy, Alan."

Alan was nearly down to what could now be called sea level. Wave after wave crashed over him sending him into an uncontrolled spin. One exceptionally large wave knocked his mask askew. The shock made him inhale a lungful of water and he lost his grip on the stretcher as his body reacted by coughing. The stretcher swung around, catching him on the back, winding him a second time.

"Take it easy, Alan," Gordon advised. "Get your breath back then start again."

"I'm okay," Alan choked out and readjusted his mask. Then he took a deep breath and continued his decent. He was in the water now, the stretcher floating out beside him, and it was easier to swim than to continue to rely on the winch. He pushed the stretcher towards Gordon. "There's a backboard attached. Get him on that first."

"F-A-B." With tired fingers Gordon placed a neck brace on Joe and then strapped him onto the backboard. "That was easier than I expected."

Together and with care the Tracy brothers slid Joe onto the stretcher, making sure there was no way he could slide off. Gordon strapped the injured man's scuba cartridge so it wouldn't interfere with anything. "There you go, Alan. Get him out of here."

"What about you?"

"I'll wait until you're both safe. I've got oxygen, you haven't."

"Okay. Pull me up, Scott!"

"Watch the feed-line doesn't snag on anything," Scott instructed his father as he reversed the winch's action. Slowly the machine pulled the two men up the gradual incline. Scott directed his next comments into his microphone. "Virgil, you and Brains get ready, will you?"

"We're standing by, Scott."

The stretcher neared its goal. "You're doing it," Ned breathed. "He's going to be okay."

"Wait till Brains has checked him over," Jeff cautioned.

"Brains! Why Brains?"

"He's our resident medical specialist," Jeff told the amazed reporter.

"You're kidding!"

"No," Scott admitted. "He's not such an absent-minded scientist, huh?"

The stretcher had reached the edge of the patio. "Good work, Alan," Jeff congratulated as he reached down and helped Scott pull Joe, held rigid on the stretcher, onto the patio. Together they pulled him into the lounge.

Brains and Virgil pulled the stretcher and its unconscious occupant out of the worst of the weather before picking Joe up and carrying him to the infirmary.

Jeff and Scott returned to help Alan clamber back onto the patio.

"Your turn, Gordon," Scott announced.

"Good. I feel like I'm in a washing machine."

"Unhook the feed-line and we'll pull you in."

"F-A-B." Gordon turned to release the connection. "Hang on! I've seen this slab thing before! It's the bottom of the swimming pool!"

"It's what?" Jeff asked.

"The bottom of the swimming p…"

Gordon's last word was swept away in the whirlpool that opened up beneath him. The bottom of the pool that had been Joe's saviour sank down out of sight…

As did Gordon…

_To be continued..._


	13. But It Pours

**Twelve: …But it pours**

"Gordon!" Jeff yelled as his son disappeared beneath the swirling waters of the whirlpool in what had formerly been their tranquil courtyard.

"Gordon!" Scott and Alan's yells were an echo of their father's.

As he continued to cling to the patio, Ned felt his mouth go dry and his stomach twist into knots. "No! Please no…"

He was ignored by the Tracys. "How much oxygen has he used?" Alan asked.

Jeff looked at his watch. "Ten… fifteen minutes…?"

The waters of the whirlpool continued to spin around, mimicking the pattern of the cyclone above, as it pulled trees, masonry and other debris downwards.

Of Thunderbird Four's pilot, there was no sign.

"My fault…" Ned gasped. "I'm sorry… so sorry."

"Shut up!" Scott snapped as he pulled at Alan's harness.

Alan pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going down there."

"Scott!" Jeff protested. "It's too dangerous. Wait until we know something."

"By the time we know something he could have run out of oxygen and drowned!" A streak of lighting added emphasis to the dramatic nature of Scott's statement.

"You're not in your wet suit," Alan pointed out.

"I'm not going to waste time with that," his older brother insisted. "Help me put this on, Alan."

"You're not going to be able to swim against that current in your overalls," Jeff remonstrated. "Look at it, Scott! Don't make us have to rescue you as well as Gordon."

"But I can't leave him at the mercy of that!" Scott gestured out towards the vortex of water, which suddenly, almost magically, disappeared.

"Gordon!" Scott called again as he clipped his harness to the taut feed-line. "Can you hear me? Answer me!"

No words could describe the Tracys' relief when they heard a voice. "I can hear you, Scott. No need to shout."

"Thank…" Scott lowered the volume of his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I think I've just gone through the rinse cycle in the washing machine, but, yeah, I'm okay."

"Where are you?" Jeff asked.

"In Thunderbird One's launch bay. You've got a heck of a clean up job to do, Scotty."

To Scott, at that point, a 'heck of a clean up job' was a small price to pay for the knowledge that his brother was alive. "Can you swim through to One's hangar?"

"Looks passable. I'll meet you there."

The four men on the patio crawled back into the lounge. The wind was still roaring past them, and the wall panel with its twin lights was spinning about on its axis. Thunderbird One was clearly visible through the door and as Scott watched the panel disengaged itself from its fulcrum and flew into the hangar. He cringed as it crashed against Thunderbird One's fuselage.

"Don't worry, Scott," Alan reassured him, crawling alongside. "She's tough. She won't even have a scratch."

"Maybe not from that," Scott admitted. "But how high's that water? If it reaches its own level then it should be…" He reached the damaged doorway and peered down. Water lapped a metre below Thunderbird One's entrance hatch.

Scott groaned at the sight. "Salt water… What are the jet units going to be like?"

"Wet," Alan replied.

"Where's Gordon?" Jeff squeezed between his two sons and looked down into the murky water. "Can you hear me, Son? Where are you?"

"Trying to reach the hangar. There's more debris than I first thought."

Jeff looked at his watch. "He's been under 25 minutes," he muttered. "Alan, go and get a couple more oxygen cartridges."

"Where's that winch cable?" Scott re-attached it to his harness. "I'm going down. Get Alan to drop down the oxygen when he gets back."

"Hold on, Scott," Alan stopped him. "There's a pile of cartridges here. Virgil must have left them… He's left your flippers too." He crawled back and handed some of the items to Scott. "He's got you sussed. He knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from getting wet."

Offering a silent 'thank you' to his brother, Scott pulled on the flippers, slid a cartridge onto his back, and, holding a second cartridge securely, slipped into the water which filled his Thunderbird's hangar. Then, trying to ignore his submerged plane, he dove down towards the tunnel leading to the launch bay. "Where are you, Gordon? Don't waste oxygen, just answer no or yes. Are you in the tunnel?"

"Yes."

"On the right side leading up?"

"No."

Scott adjusted his angle of approach so he was swimming to his right. "Near the top?"

"Yes."

Scott swam upwards slightly. "In the corner?"

"…."

"Gordon! Can you hear me? Are you in the corner?"

Gordon was sounding tired. "Gettin' my bearings. Uh… yeah."

"Okay. Don't try to move. I'm coming down to get you." Scott swum strongly, trusting his brother's directions. Now he could see why Gordon had found it so difficult to swim from the launch bay to the hangar. Unable to withstand the stresses when the roof of the launch bay had collapsed, the pool's false bottom, that which had saved Joe's life, had disintegrated into several pieces. These, mingled with various pieces of International Rescue's equipment and other bits of debris had effectively blocked the tunnel. Scott prayed that Gordon had chosen a route that was clear.

"Anything, Scott?" he heard his father ask.

"Negative. There's too much rubbish down here." Scott swam a little further. "Hold it! I've found him."

"How is he?" Jeff asked and there was no mistaking the urgency in his voice.

"Dunno." Scott swum closer. "Gordon? Can you hear me? Wave if you can." He was relieved to see a hand move and a pair of legs start to kick. "No, don't try to swim to me. Save your oxygen."

"'Kay…" Gordon slurred.

Scott put more power into his stroke but didn't move forward. Looking down at his side he discovered that the loose material of his overalls had snagged on a tree branch. Impatiently he pulled at the branch and the material slipped free allowing him to cover the last few metres to his brother in quick time. "I'm here, Gordon. Can you hear me?"

As he prepared the spare cartridge he saw his brother give a tired nod. "Good. Now, I'm going to change your oxygen over. Take a deep breath and let me know when you are ready." He watched through the face mask as Gordon tried to suck up what oxygen there was left in the cartridge. Then when Gordon gave an okay signal, Scott disconnected the spent cartridge and attached the new one. "How's that? Okay?"

Breathing greedily at the fresh oxygen supply, Gordon gave a weak grin and a thumbs up, at which Scott managed a smile of his own. "Let's get rid of this," he said as he helped his brother slide out of the old cartridge, letting it fall to the floor below them. "Guess that's something else I'll have to clear away, huh Gordon?" he joked.

"I'll… help."

"I wouldn't say that too loud. We've got witnesses."

"Too late," they heard Alan's voice. "You can't back out now, Gordon."

Gordon managed a chuckle and allowed Scott to guide him upwards. When they cleared the tunnel he attempted to swim without assistance, but his brother kept a firm grip on his harness. Slightly irritated that he needed assistance in what he regarded as his own environment, Gordon looked at the submerged Thunderbird One. "Is this the new Thunderbird Four? I don't think much of the colour scheme…"

"Can it, Gordon," Scott growled and Gordon felt instantly better.

They broke the surface and looked up to the opening where two anxious faces were searching for them. Gordon gave a wave and received the winch's feed-line in reply. He submitted to Scott fixing the cable to his harness and allowed himself to be winched out of the saline water into the windblown lounge. Once he'd reached safety he removed his mask, crawled away from the door and rolled onto his back where he lay with his eyes shut.

Jeff knelt down beside his prostrate son. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gordon cracked his eyes open a fraction. "I guess I can't be spun around like a Catherine Wheel, suffer from mild oxygen depravation, and not expect to be a little light headed."

"Want us to get a stretcher?" Jeff asked. "Or a wheelchair?"

"Nah. I'll be all right."

"Well you can't stay here," Jeff indicated the wind and rain that was still streaming into the room.

"Nope," Alan agreed and reached out for his older brother. "Get up, Gordon. You're soaking wet."

"Why?" Gordon asked as he accepted his brother's extended hand. "Are you afraid I'll ruin the carpet?" He stood, swayed slightly, and with a mild protest, more out of habit than conviction, allowed Alan and his father to support him as they walked towards the lounge door.

Ned Cook intercepted them. He reached out to shake Gordon's hand. "You saved Joe's life again, Gordon, and I wish there was a more suitable way that we could thank you." He then realised that Gordon had both his arms around Alan and Jeff's necks and shoved his hand back into his pocket. "Thank you," he said.

Everyone else froze. They'd forgotten that the reporter had been watching every moment of Joe's rescue, every moment of Gordon's drama… and every moment of Thunderbird One's submerging. Scott looked back and realised that from here Ned could see right into Thunderbird One's hangar. He noticed that the top of the painting of the rocket had been pushed into the wall cavity, no longer hiding Thunderbird Two's entrance. His heart sank. International Rescue was well and truly exposed now. He exchanged a worried glance with his father.

The sound of approaching footsteps temporarily diverted their attention away from their present dilemma. Virgil was in a hurry. "I need your help, fellas," he announced. "I have to…" he looked at Gordon. "Are you all right?"

Gordon released his grip on his father and brother. "Never been better."

Virgil gave him a curious look. "Good. As soon as you've got changed I'm going to need you guys to give me a hand to prep Thunderbird Two. Brains, Tin-Tin and I are going to have to fly Joe out of here as soon as the waters recede."

"What? The cyclone's at full strength." Jeff said. "Can't you wait until Sylvia passes?"

"Brains doesn't think that waiting's an option."

"Then I'll be your co-pilot," Scott stated.

"No way!" Gordon protested. "That's my job!"

"If Tin-Tin's going then so am I," Alan's jaw was jutting out defiantly.

"Whoa, hold it!" Virgil held up his hand to silence his brothers. "None of you are going. I'm not risking anyone's neck unnecessarily."

"But…" three brothers began to protest and were shushed by their father.

"How bad is he, Virgil?" Jeff asked.

Virgil looked at him. "You'd better go talk to Brains." He turned to the reporter. "You too, Mr Cook."

* * *

When they entered the infirmary, Ned's first thought was that Virgil had been over-dramatising the situation. Instead of lying down, Joe appeared to be sitting, propped up by numerous pillows. Ned walked over to his friend, intending to tease him about how he was alarming everyone unduly…

Then Ned Cook stopped.

Joe was on oxygen. Several IV lines ran clear liquid into his arms. And instead of his usual healthy glow his skin was ashen in colour. Ned lay his hand on Joe's arm and realised that it was feeling clammy. "Joe?"

There was no response.

"M-Mr Cook?" Brains enquired.

Ned looked over to the other side of the room, where the scientific and operational heads of International Rescue were both looking at him.

"Come here, Ned," Jeff sounded sympathetic. "Brains will explain everything."

Ned patted Joe on the arm. "I'll be back, old friend."

"L-Look after him, Tin-Tin," Brains requested and beckoned the other two men into an adjacent room.

Ned started. He hadn't even realised that the young lady had been standing by the bed. He watched for a moment as she checked a drip and made some notes. She gave him an understanding smile as he walked out of the room.

Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. "How bad is he, Brains?"

"M-My tests show that J-Joe has severe internal injuries. He needs immediate surgery."

"And you can't do that here?"

Brains shook his head. "N-No. My tests also show that Joe has an extremely rare blood-type."

"And we don't have enough in stock?" Jeff asked.

Brains shook his head again. "N-Not enough to sustain him through a surgical operation of that magnitude. I'm using it, ah, sparingly as it is."

"And you can't take a transfusion from one of us?"

"No, Mr Tracy. We are not compatible." Brains looked at Ned.

"Me neither," Ned admitted. "My blood's one of the more common types. Every time we would go on assignment somewhere dangerous Joe would joke about how he should have spare blood as well as spare film in his kit bag."

"It's going to be a dangerous trip, Brains," Jeff warned.

"I am a-aware of that, Mr Tracy."

"No one is going to force you or Tin-Tin to go."

"N-No one has. I volunteered."

"So have I, Mr Tracy." Startled again, Ned turned at the sound of Tin-Tin's voice. She was standing in the doorway so she could watch over Joe, but still be part of the conversation. "I can help both Brains and Virgil if necessary."

"Thank you, Tin-Tin," Jeff replied and turned back to Brains. "How long before you can move him?"

"I-I am assuming that we will have Joe stabilised before the storm surge passes. It is, ah, Mother Nature who will determine when we will be able to depart."

Jeff frowned. "Let's hope she's on our side."

* * *

"Right!" Scott said as he strode across Thunderbird Two's hangar floor. "What do you want us to do?"

Virgil, who was pulling various tools out of their lockers, looked at his brothers who'd changed out of their sodden overalls and wetsuit and were now dressed in dry gear. "Undo all the work you've done over the last few weeks. I want to lighten her as much as possible. Anything not necessary for a safe flight has got to go. It's going to be hard enough to get off the ground in that wind and rain without trying to lift unnecessary weight."

"When are you going to leave?" Alan asked. "Did Brains give an optimum time?"

"The sooner the better. But we can't go anywhere until the storm surge passes."

Gordon was staring at the hangar door. "Think of the pressure behind that," he breathed. "We're metres under water at the moment."

"Not for too long I hope," Virgil said as he spread out a plan of Thunderbird Two. "I'll take the cabin. We'll leave the sick-bay intact." He looked at Scott. "You're commander. What else do you want us to do?"

"Dad said he'd be down to help soon," Alan reminded him.

"Good. The more people working the sooner we can get this done." Scott studied the plan. "You'll need an empty pod," he noted. "We'll all work on that last. That's more than a one man job."

Virgil nodded. "Fair enough."

"Virgil!"

Virgil heard the voice from behind him and groaned quietly. "Let me guess," he muttered before turning. "Yes, Grandma?"

"Is it true that you have to fly Joe to hospital?"

"Yes, Grandma."

"Through the cyclone? It's going to be dangerous."

"Yes, Grandma."

"You're going to need all your strength. Would you like me to cook you something to eat before you go?"

Virgil stared at her. "Grandma?"

"Something nourishing? Do you feel like anything in particular?"

"Are you serious, Grandma?" Scott asked.

"Of course I'm serious. There's a man up there who needs urgent medical attention and who better to get him to it than International Rescue? So…" she turned back to her middle grandson. "Well? What do you want?"

"Uh," Virgil was dumbfounded. "Anything I guess… Thanks," he added belatedly.

"Good!' She nodded in satisfaction before turning to the eldest. "And you make sure he eats it," she ordered, before turning on her heel.

"Yes, Grandma," Scott said to her departing back.

"That woman never fails to amaze me," Virgil said.

Scott divided up the transporter into sections and dispatched his brothers to the various quarters of the 'plane.

* * *

Ned was sitting by Joe's bedside. "You never do things by halves, do you, my friend?"

The only reply was the soft beeping sounds of the machines recording Joe's progress.

Ned chuckled half-heartedly. "And you accuse me of doing anything for a story. You realise the bosses are going to come down on you twice as hard as they were before we started this stupid Olympic show. You'll probably end up saddled with Sid Lowe no matter what I do."

Someone moved into his line of sight to examine one of the many monitors and Ned looked up. Brains was watching him, his eyes filled with sympathy. "H-He's doing well, considering his condition. We can move him at any time."

Ned looked back at his friends pallid face. "Can he survive a flight through a cyclone?"

"I can't answer that. But I-I can assure you, Mr Cook. I would not let him die without a fight."

Ned looked back at the young man. "Could you survive a flight through a cyclone? You and Virgil and Tin-Tin?"

"I would have sacrificed Joe's l-life to preserve ours if I had any doubts about our, ah, ability to survive this flight intact. Thunderbird Two is an extremely s-strong craft and Virgil is a brave, skilled pilot, particularly when flying Th-Thunderbird Two."

"Did you design Thunderbird Two?"

Brains inclined his head. "It was a team effort."

"Engineer, scientist, surgeon… You're a clever man, Brains."

"I have been told so," Brains admitted with some modesty.

"With your inventions you could have made millions. Billions even! You could have had more money than Jeff Tracy and yet you've chosen to work for him."

"I-If I had done so billions could have died," Brains reminded Ned. "Not only those th-that International Rescue has saved, but those that would have fallen victim if my creations were obtained by the wrong people."

"I'm sorry I ever doubted your abilities."

"A-And I am gratified that my acting skills were sufficient to f-fool an experienced reporter such as yourself. The, ah, performing arts are not one of my talents."

* * *

"Permit me to help you, Tin-Tin."

"Thank you, Father. I would appreciate your help."

Tin-Tin and Kyrano worked together in companionable silence for a short time, packing into cases some of the items that Brains believed Joe would need during the upcoming flight.

"You are not frightened?" Kyrano eventually asked.

"Terrified," she admitted. "But Brains needs my help. And I am lighter than the boys."

"I would not try to talk you out of doing your duty, but no one would cast blame upon you if you were to change your mind."

"I would blame me," Tin-Tin told him. "I am a member of International Rescue and I am proud to be so. I can't in clear conscience let Virgil and Brains fly into Cyclone Sylvia, knowing that I could be of help to both of them."

"I am proud of you, My Daughter."

"Thank you, Father." Tin-Tin shut the last case and looked at the pile of cartons. "I hope we haven't packed too much. We're trying to travel light."

"I am sure that Mister Brains would have taken that into consideration."

Tin-Tin sighed. "Now I'd better go pack for myself. It isn't going to be easy. I always feel that I should wear something different at every meal when staying with Lady Penelope, but I won't be able to take too many clothes this time."

"You could always visit the shops. I am sure Lady Penelope would enjoy taking you around the clothing establishments in London."

"Treat myself, you mean?" Tin-Tin bit her lip in thought. "I might just do that. I'll probably need a little pampering after the flight. I'll take one change of clothes, sleepwear and purchase anything else I need in England." She kissed her father on the cheek. "Any suggestions of what I should buy?"

"Your style and my style are different," Kyrano admitted. "I would not begin to tell a young lady what she should wear... However…"

"Yes, Father?"

"If I may be so bold… a little modesty can be as alluring to the male as… the, ah, exposure of … female flesh."

Tin-Tin laughed at her father's awkward suggestion. "But I won't be buying for a man's enjoyment. I will be buying for my own."

"Mister Alan would be most disappointed."

"Mister Alan won't be in England. Are you worried I might inflame Brains… or Parker?"

"You will see other men."

"Virgil? He treats me like his little sister. He always has."

Kyrano was beginning to wish he hadn't embarked on this conversation. "Many Englishmen have no wife and would appreciate the company of a young woman such as yourself."

"You forget, Father. I did much of my schooling in Europe. I think I can handle myself."

"Of this I have no doubt. All I ask is that you buy something that your old father would not be ashamed to see you in."

"My father is not that old," Tin-Tin reminded him. "But you are forgetting one thing. It is winter in England. I shall be wanting to wear more rather than less..."

* * *

"How high's the storm surge now?" Jeff asked his satellite bound son.

"It's dropping, but not very quickly. I think it'll be at least a couple of hours before the runway's clear."

"And how strong will Cyclone Sylvia be then?"

John's face was grim. "Strong enough that I wouldn't want to attempt flying in her."

"John, I know Virgil's got plenty of common sense, but whatever happens don't let him fly home again until you're absolutely sure that it's safe. If he has to ditch Thunderbird Two there's no one to rescue them."

"I've already told Penny to expect company and she'll make sure they don't leave until I've given the all clear."

Jeff gave a tight smile. "That's one lady who won't accept any arguments. I think she and your Grandmother were cast out of the same mould."

"Somehow," John managed a chuckle, "I can't imagine Penny wearing an apron and up to her elbows in flour."

"No," Jeff mused. "That's probably one skill Lady Penelope has never been taught."

"She might be able to cook on a campfire in an emergency," John suggested.

"Possibly…" Jeff gave himself a shake. "I can't believe we're discussing Lady Penelope's culinary skills, when I should be helping your brothers strip down Thunderbird Two."

"You're helping me not to worry," John told him. "I haven't got as much up here to keep me occupied."

Jeff decided to do something about that. "Any potential disasters which you can keep an eye on?"

"No," John replied. "And what could International Rescue do anyway? Thunderbird Two might be available, but nothing else would be. The Mole, Firefly, and our other equipment are all too heavy to take on the off chance they'll be needed."

"Okay, John. I've got the picture," Jeff growled. He stood. "I'm not helping anyone sitting here. I'm going back down to see if the boys need a hand. Keep giving me updates on the weather situation, would you?"

"F-A-B, Dad."

* * *

The Tracys had stripped out most of Thunderbird Two's interior and were in the processes of clearing out Pod Two. Scott and Virgil were emptying out cabinets on the starboard side; piling the contents onto trolleys.

"Virgil," Scott said, as he undid the final screw that held the cabinet in place. "Let me make the flight." They laid the cabinet on the trolley.

Virgil laughed. "I wondered how long it was going to be before you suggested that. The answer's no, Scott."

"I'm a better pilot than you."

Virgil faced off to his brother. "Not in Thunderbird Two you're not."

"I'm as good," Scott protested.

"Would you have tried to fly into the hangar like I did this morning?"

Scott stood a little straighter. "I would have in Thunderbird One."

"I've no doubt of that. But we're not talking about Thunderbird One. Would you have even thought of attempting it in Thunderbird Two?"

Scott hesitated as he wrestled with his conscience. "No," he eventually said.

"No," Virgil agreed. "Case closed. I'm flying Thunderbird Two. If nothing else it'll stop Ned Cook thinking I'm a creampuff."

Scott looked at his brother in concern. "Alan really hit a nerve with that crack, didn't he? Do you want me to talk to him about it?"

Virgil shook his head. "It was a joke! No, Scott. At any other time I would have laughed off a comment like that. It just happened that at that moment, like everyone else, I was stressing over the cyclone and Cook and Co. Forget it. I have."

"If you're sure…"

Unbeknownst to the two brothers they were being watched by their younger siblings. "Three guesses what's going on there," Gordon suggested.

"I'd only need one. Scott's offering to fly Thunderbird Two and Virgil's telling him where to go."

"Would you fly her through the cyclone?" Gordon asked.

"If I was the only person available, maybe," Alan admitted. "But I wouldn't offer to take Two while both Virgil and Scott are capable. Three maybe, but not Two. How about you?"

"No," Gordon said. "I know I'm her co-pilot, but I honestly don't think I've got the skills to handle her in a category five cyclone. I'd probably offer to take Joe under the water in Thunderbird Four."

"And meet up with the Sentinel again?" Alan grinned.

"Well," Gordon chuckled. "I did get to know a few of the crew. And the commander wasn't that bad once you got to know him."

"I don't know that Virgil would agree with you there."

"True. I'll admit that at first it was hard to be pleasant to the man who tried to shoot my brother out of the sky."

"Boys," Jeff bounded up the incline that was the Pod's door. "How's it going?"

"Nearly finished," Alan said, as he and Gordon lowered their cabinet onto the trolley.

"How about you, Scott?" Jeff called across the pod. "Do you want me to help anywhere?"

"Nope, that's it," Scott admitted. "I'm going to take Virgil through some cyclones on the simulator. We'll let Gordon programme it, which should ensure a suitably rough ride. Alan's going to check through Thunderbird Two and make sure we haven't missed anything."

Alan stared at him. "Why me?"

"Because Gordon and I haven't had the opportunity to spend much time with Virgil the last few days and you have."

"Yes," Gordon agreed.

"So!" Alan seethed. "I'd miss him too if anything happened."

"You can sit next to him while he's eating," Scott tried to pacify his kid brother.

"As long as I can sit on the other side…" Gordon added.

"That's my place," Scott told him.

"Why…?"

"Fellas! Stop!" Virgil snapped. "I don't need this. You're making me feel like I'm about to be led to the gallows." His watch beeped.

"Virgil," Grandma Tracy's face looked at him from the dial. "Your dinner's ready."

"Thanks." Virgil lowered his wrist.

Jeff put his arm about his shoulders. "Come on, Son. She won't like to be kept waiting."

Virgil groaned. "And the condemned man was led away to enjoy his final meal."

_To be continued..._


	14. Into the Storm

**Thirteen: Into the storm…**

Virgil was in uniform as he wandered through his plane, double and triple checking everything carefully. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was feeling slightly nervous about a flight in Thunderbird Two, and the way his family had practically been glued to his side over the last few hours hadn't helped. When he'd gone to get changed, he'd almost literally had to throw Scott out of his bedroom so he'd have some peace. It was only because his father had dispatched everyone off on various tasks that he was alone now.

Virgil checked each compartment noting that they had all been stripped bare of their fixtures and fittings. The various winches, grabs, and other pieces of equipment were now all stacked neatly along the sides of the hangar. They'd even vacuumed each room, deciding that in a craft of this size a small amount of dust in each area could add up to a weight of consequence.

His last port of call was the pod.

He heard his father yell. "Virgil?"

"In here," Virgil's voice sounded hollow inside the barren shell.

Jeff climbed into the pod. "Last minute checks?"

"Yes." Virgil stood for a moment looking around him. "It's ironic that we've had to strip her down like this after all the hard work you guys put into her bringing her back up to scratch."

"It won't take so long to put her back together this time. At least everything's intact. And we'll have you to help this time, your brothers will see to that."

Virgil nodded his agreement, not really listening. He was remembering the note that he'd scribbled and left under his pillow. 'To my much loved family,' it began. 'If you're reading this it's because I'm not as good a pilot as I thought I was…'

Virgil grimaced. He wished he hadn't written that.

"Are you all right?" his father asked when he noticed the expression.

"I think I've eaten too much of Grandma's cooking. I might be too heavy for Thunderbird Two."

Jeff Tracy chuckled. "You've made her happy, anyway." He looked at his watch. "They'll be down soon."

"Yes." Virgil agreed. "I guess I'd better go get everything fired up." He led the way into the lift that would take them to the sickbay.

"I'm proud of you, Son."

Surprised by his father's remark, Virgil could only manage a "Huh?"

"There's not too many people with the skills and courage to undertake such a flight."

This was easy to answer. "No."

"And I want you to know, that even if I hadn't seen that amazing bit of flying this morning, I still would have thought you were the man for the job."

"Thanks," Virgil said. "I don't know what all the fuss is about. It's not like I've never done anything dangerous before."

"But this is different…"

"Only because, this time, you're involved personally. Do you really think flying through a cyclone is any more dangerous than having an atomic airliner land on me or neutralising a nuclear reactor?" He waited to see if he'd eased his father's mind.

"No," Jeff agreed. "I guess you're right. But, even so, please be careful. Don't take any risks."

"I won't," Virgil admitted. "I've learnt the hard way that I'm not bullet-proof. There's no way that I would have offered to take this trip if I hadn't thought that both Thunderbird Two and I were up to the job."

"So I don't need to remind you that you've got Brains and Tin-Tin on board as well as Joe."

Virgil shook his head. "No." The lift stopped rising, the doors opened and he operated a switch.

There was a humming sound as light flooded the room, and when they stepped into the sickbay it was like stepping into a whole new world. Whereas the rest of Thunderbird Two was painted utilitarian greens and greys, the sickbay was a glossy white. Apart from the floor the room was spherical in shape and not a sharp edge or corner was visible. On a console set into the wall just inside the door lights flashed and the needles on various gauges crept higher.

Virgil began to prowl about, opening cupboards, checking stocks, and examining the electronic equipment.

"Brains has already done that," Jeff advised.

"I know. But if I check it myself that'll be one less thing I'll worry about…"

* * *

"You can't leave me here!" Ned Cook protested. 

Scott glared at him. "We're not letting you anywhere near Thunderbird Two's hangar! You know too much already."

"But Joe's my friend…"

"If you really care about him you'll let us take him away, instead of standing there arguing with me," Scott told him and took up position at the front right of the stretcher. Beside him, Gordon already had his hand on the stretcher's left handle. Alan was behind him. "Would you mind helping, Kyrano?"

Kyrano bowed. "It would be my pleasure to assist you all." He took his place at the sole remaining handle.

"I could do that!" Ned claimed.

Scott ignored him. "Are you ready, Brains? Tin-Tin?"

They were dressed and ready for the flight. Instead of wearing surgical garb or lab coats, both wore what appeared to be a kind of body armour. Ned had goggled at the pair of them and had asked, "What's that get up for?"

No one had told him. Now the seven members of International Rescue were walking out the door, carrying Joe and leaving a frustrated reporter in their wake.

"Now don't you move from here," Grandma Tracy wagged her finger at Ned. "Else I'll see to you, my lad."

Ned could do nothing but wait. Even if he'd been in the mood for a little snooping they'd boarded up the door to the lounge. Thunderbird One's hangar was securely off limits.

The ride down to Thunderbird Two was quiet. The lift was large enough to carry two billiard tables and each person had plenty of room in which to reflect on their own thoughts.

The doors slid back, revealing Thunderbird Two, her nose just metres away from the solid granite wall. "Virgil must have been in a hurry to put that thing away," Grandma remarked. "It's facing the wrong direction."

Her grandsons were careful not to explain why Virgil had been in such a hurry, or how he'd 'put it away' as they crossed the hangar towards the gigantic plane. Footsteps echoed and body armour reverberated in that mausoleum of a room. They entered Thunderbird Two…

* * *

Virgil was continuing his inspection of the sickbay as he ran his hands around a distinct panel in the wall, checking the edges were clear. "If nothing else, I hope I don't have to use this thing." 

"Me too, Son."

The sickbay had two uses. The primary, obvious use was care of the injured. Its secondary use was as an escape pod. The theory was that upon impact or after manual operation, the sickbay would be ejected out through Thunderbird Two's roof, where a parachute would be deployed to bring it safely to earth. The spherical interior was to ensure that there were no sharp edges on which anyone could be impaled. The matching exterior would ensure that should the pod land on water it would float until the occupants could be rescued. A fraction of a second before the escape pod's ejection, the pilot, and any passengers on the flight deck, would be pulled backwards, on their seats, into the sickbay in a manner reminiscent of the escape units in the 'Zero' fleet of spaceships.

They'd tested it once two months before they'd set out on their first rescue. Since Thunderbird Two was 'his' plane, Virgil had volunteered to be the guinea pig. When Brains had activated the unit, Virgil, in his pilot seat, had been propelled backwards at such a speed that the acceleration and deceleration had left him stunned and gasping for breath. As they'd helped him onto the sickbay's stretcher and given him oxygen, Alan, who'd been champing at the bit to have a go, suddenly remembered that he had something important to do in Thunderbird Three. Gordon had remarked that it made his accident in the hydrofoil look like a cruise on a yacht. John had practically begged his father to let him go up to Thunderbird Five early, and Scott had torn strips off the scientist. "It's too explosive, Brains."

Stung with everyone's reaction, Brains had pulled himself up to his full height and looked Scott in the chest. "Th-That's the point, Scott. It's to save the p-pilot's life."

"It's not going to be much use if it's going to kill him!"

"I-I would not allow that to happen…"

"And I'm going to make sure it won't! Come up with something else, Brains!"

"Such as…?"

By this point Virgil had got his breath back. "Will you all be quiet?" he'd begged. "And help me remove this mask. My hands don't seem to be working properly."

It was only bruising, brought about by the concussive nature of the test, but Virgil remembered that he'd felt sore for the entire week after that. He'd also had to endure teasing from his brothers about his having to move about like an old man. Even more frustrating had been the pain he'd felt each time he'd attempted to play the piano. Brains had explained that inertial forces, caused by his blood being thrust at speed down his arms to his hands, had caused severe bruising to his fingertips. It was not a sensation that Virgil was in a hurry to feel again.

Scott had battled to get the ejection unit changed, and Brains had battled equally hard to retain it. Jeff had finally decided that as it was only to be used in an emergency, and appeared to be working as designed, the system would be retained. He also decreed that there was no need for anyone else to test it…

And so, that was the only time the pilot's escape unit had been used. Virgil hoped it would stay that way.

The lift announced its arrival. "Good luck, Virgil," Jeff said quickly, and Joe, still in his half-seated position, was borne into the sickbay.

A short time later the injured man was secure in the sickbay's bed. Brains confirmed that his vital signs were as good as could be expected under the present conditions and turned to the rest of the group. "W-W-We're ready."

After the expected goodbyes, most of the group retreated back to the safety of Tracy Villa. "We'll watch the flight from the storm shelters," Jeff explained to Ned when they had reached the safety of the house.

This time Ned Cook had no compunction about obeying the Tracy patriarch.

"How're things looking, John?" Virgil asked as he slid into his pilot's seat.

"Better," John replied. "Which isn't saying much."

"How fast are the winds?"

"Varying between 200 and 250 knots, with occasional gusts of 300."

"Just a walk in the park then."

"If the park's situated in a wind tunnel."

"Virgil, John, patch through full telemetry readings," Jeff commanded. "I want to know exactly what's going on with Thunderbird Two. I also want full video coverage of what you're seeing, Virgil. "

"F-A-B." Virgil agreed. "I'd appreciate it if someone could take on a virtual co-pilot role. I'm not going to be able to keep an eye on everything."

"Gordon?" John offered. "Scott?"

"No. You do it, John," Scott replied. "It'll take a microsecond longer for a signal to travel between here and Thunderbird Two than there would be directly from Thunderbird Five. That microsecond could be crucial."

"Are you happy with that, John?" Virgil asked.

"Sure," John agreed. "What do you want me to watch?"

"Let's start with height, wind speed and air pressure. I'll concentrate on what I'm flying through; you tell me if there's anything coming up I should know about. That'll be valuable when we're flying through the transition zone."

"F-A-B."

In the storm shelter Ned was astounded to see the wall change from what he'd previously thought was a plain, painted surface. Now, in one panel he could see Virgil's view through the windscreen. The one on the far left was focused on the pilot himself, while its opposing number showed Brains and Tin-Tin checking Joe in the sick-bay. The middle panel showed John Tracy in Thunderbird Five and the final one displayed all sorts of incomprehensible readouts.

Clearly Scott didn't find them incomprehensible because he was studying them closely. "Looks okay so far…"

"Of course they're okay," Alan replied. "They haven't left the ground yet."

"What's the wind speed in the cirrus outflow region?" Virgil was asking.

"About the same as what you've got down there." Together the two brothers began checking the reports and telemetry readings coming from Thunderbird Two and various weather computers.

Ned Cook listened to the exchange between the Virgil and John with a mixture of anxiety and confusion. "What are they talking about? What's the transition zone and circus outflow region?"

"Cirrus outflow region," Scott corrected. "It's where the air escapes from the low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow."

Ned looked at him in open confusion. "Low pressure system of the cyclonic inflow?"

Alan tried to help out. "Remember how Brains explained that the eye of a cyclone is the area of highest air pressure and lowest wind speeds? That's why we were able to fly out into it this morning. Conversely, the eye wall is the area of the lowest air pressure and highest wind speeds. That's what we're in now."

"Right…" Ned said slowly, trying to follow the science.

"What happens…"

"Scott," his father interrupted, "Maybe later?" He gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of his mother.

Unfortunately for him she saw his gesture. "Don't be silly, Jefferson. I don't need to be sheltered from what they are going to be facing. I'd rather know the facts than be left to imagine the worst."

"Are you sure, Grandma?" Scott asked.

"You're just as silly as your father," she remonstrated.

"Okay," Scott attempted to keep his explanation simple. "The main 'engine' of the cyclone is a 'cyclonic inflow', sucking the air in towards the centre of the cyclone in a clockwise motion… since we are in the Southern Hemisphere. Obviously there gets a point where the air has nowhere to go except up, and it does this through the eye, which acts like a chimney."

"Okay," Ned nodded.

"When the air forced upward by the 'chimney' hits the top of the cyclone, usually about seven thousand metres up, it spills out forming an outflow of cirrus, that's a kind of wispy cloud."

"And that's the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.

"Right. But while the cyclonic inflow, made up of active cumulus towers…"

Ned looked confused.

"Thunderstorm clouds," Gordon supplied.

"Oh."

"Thanks," Scott acknowledged. "While the cyclonic inflow is rotating in a clockwise motion, the cirrus outflow region is spinning in the opposite direction. As you can imagine, there's a pretty turbulent area between these two, and that's the transition zone Virgil was referring too."

"How strong is the cirrus outflow region?" Ned asked.

"Well…" Scott thought for a moment. "It depends on the strength of the storm. At their strongest point, which is about 12,000 metres up, pretty much the same as what is there in the cyclonic inflow."

"So," Ned said in amazement. "They've not only got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed to his right. "They've also got to fly through 250 knot winds going this way," he pointed in the other direction. "And then they've got to deal with where the two meet up?" He pointed both directions and then twisted his hands together.

"Yep," Alan replied. "Tricky, isn't it?"

"And you're allowing Tin-Tin to fly through that?" Ned asked Kyrano.

Kyrano inclined his head. "It is the twenty-first century, Mr Cook. Young ladies are free to make up their own minds. They do not rely on their fathers to tell them what they should and should not do."

Ned listened as his words came back to haunt him.

* * *

Virgil felt a twinge of apprehension as he looked at the hangar wall ahead of him. If only he'd been able to land Thunderbird Two normally last time… He pushed the unfamiliar sensation down and checked Two's readings. All seemed to be normal. "Opening hangar door." 

He imagined the outer door slipping into its cavity. He imagined the runway being cleared of debris. He imagined the inner door dropping down to reveal pure havoc.

He gave the horizontal jets a burst to keep them clear of water and debris. "Flight deck to sickbay. Are you ready?"

"R-Ready, Virgil."

"Reversing out." Virgil did so, and became conscious that something was missing. "Where are the sound effects, Gordon?"

"Huh?" a bemused Gordon replied.

"That irritating 'beep-beep' sound you always make when I'm having to reverse."

"Oh that." Gordon looked embarrassed. "You want that now?"

"I've never been able to stop you before."

"This is silly, Virgil."

"Humour me."

Turning red, Gordon mimicked the sound of a backing truck.

"How can he be that relaxed?" Ned wondered allowed. "He's cool as a cucumber."

"He's not that relaxed," Scott advised him. "Hear that tune he's humming? He only does that when he's worried."

"He won't even be aware he's doing it," Alan confirmed. "He's worried all right. He's just trying to keep us from worrying too."

Satisfied that he'd relieved some of the anxieties that he had no doubt were present in the storm shelter, Virgil concentrated on backing. As Thunderbird Two reversed out of the hangar he could hear the rains beating down on her hull. As more of Thunderbird Two was exposed it became harder to hear Gordon's sound effects. A little further and water was running down the windscreens. Further still and he was outside; the full fury of Cyclone Sylvia hammering down on him.

Praying that the beginning of the runway was still clear Virgil continued backing, turning Thunderbird Two in the small area he had available. He wanted her nose pointing into the wind to aid in lift-off, a position roughly perpendicular to the cliff face. A wind gust hit the megalithic 'plane on its starboard side and sent her rocking gently.

Beads of sweat broke out on Virgil's upper lip. "How strong was that, John?"

There was no trace of humour in John's voice. "310 knots."

"Great. I'll give the horizontal jets another blast to check they're clear."

John switched channels. "How's everything going, Brains? How's Joe?"

"Stable," Brains replied.

"How are you and Tin-Tin?"

"F-F-Fine, John," Brains glanced across at the young woman.

The pair of them were making full use of their 'armour'. Instead of being strapped into conventional seats, they were magnetically welded to the curved walls. Once the flight was underway the walls would release their hold and allow the pair to move freely. This was where the second extraordinary feature of the sickbay came in handy. By reversing the technology that enabled the crews of Thunderbirds Three and Five to move about in simulated gravity, Brains had managed to apparently reduce the effects of gravity in the room. This meant that carers and patients alike weren't restricted by the placement of beds and instrument tables. If need be one carer could hover with ease over his patient, permitting others unrestricted access.

The third remarkable thing about the sickbay was the fact that the whole room was suspended by this same anti-gravitational field, cocooning it from any external movements and vibrations in Thunderbird Two. It ensured that everyone in the sickbay had a safe and comfortable flight.

"I am ready," Tin-Tin told John. "We are isolated from what's happening outside in here."

"H-Have we l-left the ground?" Brains asked hopefully.

"Nope. He's still trying to get into position."

Ned gaped at the odd posture the couple were standing in. "Why are they standing like that?"

Everyone ignored him, preferring to concentrate on the screens.

Thunderbird Two had been turned. Waves of water were lashing across the windscreen making it impossible to see any of the buildings. Whether they were still there, or had been blown away in the storm, it was impossible to tell.

"Everything ready at your end?" Virgil asked John.

"All systems are go," John replied.

"Okay, then, this is it. Wish us luck everyone," Virgil requested, and almost without thinking, everyone in the storm shelter did so.

"You'll need to be free to concentrate on the flight, Virgil, so we'll cease communication from now," his father explained. "If we want to contact you it'll be through John."

"F-A-B." Virgil looked at his father's image. "And thanks. Make sure you all stay dry and don't get blown away before we get back."

His father smiled back. "We're perfectly safe in here."

"Keep your nose into the wind, Virg," Scott reminded him. "And don't take any risks."

"You mean apart from actually taking off?" Alan asked.

"And flying," Gordon added.

Jeff shushed them. "Good luck, Virgil. We'll see you soon."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied and his console went blank. "Looks like it's you and me now, John."

"They can still hear and see you, Virgil."

"I know…" Virgil took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Let's do it." He started applying pressure to the throttle.

Inside the storm shelter some of the gauges projected onto the wall began to respond. Numbers ticked over and the pointer in the gauge registering 'power output' rose steadily into the green…

Cyclone Sylvia, obviously taking exception to the fact that mere human beings were daring to attempt to leave her grasp, ripped the sole remaining palm tree, number eight, from the ground and flung it at the windscreen of Thunderbird Two. Those in the storm shelter instinctively recoiled as the root ball, constrained by the metal nutrient container, crashed against the plexiglass and the palm's leaves, brushed along the window. Then tree eight fell away, down the nose of the 'plane, and out of sight.

The pointer slid back down to zero.

"That was close," Alan noted.

"How's Two?" John asked, his face creased in an anxious frown.

Virgil was examining some readouts from his onboard computer. "Seems okay…" He stood and physically checked the area where the palm had struck. "Can't see any damage." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Sylvia's not going to make this easy, is she?"

"Nope. Looks like she's going to literally throw everything at you."

Jeff leant forward as if he were going to initiate contact. Then he changed his mind and settled back.

"Okay, we'll try again," Virgil said. Once again he pressed forward on the throttle.

Once again the 'power output' gauge's pointer started creeping upwards. Following the gauge's green segment, the pointer slid past the number one and then number two. It reached three with no noticeable change in anything except the noise Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets were making. Steam was rising outside the cabin windows making an already indistinct scene invisible.

The gauge was reading four.

"Come on, Virg," Scott muttered.

Five.

Six was the first degree in the orange segment and the pointer slid resolutely past.

"Come on, Baby," Virgil muttered.

Seven.

Eight came and went and the pointer crept dangerously close to a red nine.

"He's not going to make it," Gordon muttered.

The pointer hovered just below the red mark before sinking back down to zero again. Everyone in the shelter appeared to let out a breath of relief.

"What's he doing now?" Ned asked.

"Re-evaluating his options," Scott replied.

"Trying again…" Once again Virgil applied the throttle and once again the pointer rose. One… Two… Three…

Alan bit his thumbnail.

Four… Five… Past the orange six…

Kyrano closed his eyes as if in prayer.

Seven… Eight…

The pointer hovered at the transition between orange and red. It crept over, approaching the nine...

Scott was muttering instructions to his brother, even though Virgil was out of radio contact. "Too much power, Virg. You're using too much power. You'll burn out the engines…"

He hadn't finished his sentence when the pointer began to slide back into the green again.

Virgil sat and frowned without touching any of his instruments. His humming became louder.

"What's he doing?" Ned asked. "He's not giving up is he? He can't! Joe won't make it if he doesn't get help!"

Everyone ignored him.

Virgil sat in thought for a moment; then he opened up a radio channel. "Can you hear me, Brains?"

Everyone's attention switched to the man pressed against the wall in the sickbay. "I-I can hear you, Virgil. Are we airborne yet?"

"No. We're still too heavy to get off the ground."

"Wh-What are you going to do? W-We can't lighten Thunderbird Two any more."

"I think we can. Can you give me one good reason why we shouldn't build up the power and then jettison the pod?"

Brains had no problem with the answer. "We'd destabilise th-the structural integrity of Th-Thunderbird Two."

"Apart from that," Virgil replied.

"W-We'd destroy the aerodynamic flow."

"Apart from that."

"We've n-n-never tried it before. We've never even t-tested it. Not in these conditions."

"I know that too, but can you think of any 'it would be fatal to try it' reason why we shouldn't jettison the pod?"

Brains thought. "N-No."

"What does he mean 'jettison the pod'?" Ned asked.

"He means he wants to leave a big bit of Thunderbird Two behind," Gordon replied.

Ned had a feeling that he'd been patronised. "Sounds dangerous."

"It is," Alan replied.

"Are you willing to let me try, Brains? Tin-Tin?" Virgil was asking.

Scott was shaking his head. "Don't do it, Virg."

But Brains was reluctantly in agreement with the plan. "I'll say y-yes, go ahead, if you th-think we have no other option, Virgil."

"I can't think of anything else we can do. If we don't get off the ground we won't get Joe to medical help in time. If either or both of you want to get out I'd understand."

"No. I'll stay," Tin-Tin responded and Ned glanced at Kyrano who remained immobile.

"Brains?" Virgil asked.

"I'm staying," Brains replied. "Joe, ah, needs my help."

"Okay," Virgil said. "Thanks, both of you. Are you all secure?"

Brains did a brief check of Joe's vital signs before 'welding' himself to the wall again. "We are ready, V-Virgil."

"Okay. On the count of ten… Ten… Nine… Eight…"

Once again the pointer in the 'power output' gauge started rising as those in the storm shelter began to count along with Thunderbird Two's pilot.

"Seven… Six…"

The pointer slipped out of the green and into the orange.

"Five…" said Ned and was astounded to realise that he was the only person who'd spoken.

"Four…" Virgil continued in chorus with his family. "Three… Two…"

As the pointer hovered on the edge of the red segment smoke and steam were streaming from Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. Even those inside the shelter could see that the mighty 'plane was trembling with the forces that were building up within her. Only those in the sickbay seemed oblivious of the drama happening around them.

"One…"

"Go!" Keeping his left hand firmly gripping the control yoke, Virgil slammed his right down on a button. Thunderbird Two lurched skywards and he wrestled with the controls as she listed to port. Pulling the yoke down to the right, Virgil gave the VTOL jets another burst and Thunderbird Two climbed away from the ground and cliff face. "We're airborne."

A cheer went up in the shelter. "Nice one, Virg," Scott exclaimed.

"Everyone sends their congratulations," John told Virgil.

"Thanks, but that's only the beginning," Virgil reminded them. "We've got another 18 thousand metres to climb before we're out of trouble." He changed channel. "Flight deck to sickbay. We're airborne."

"Th-Thank you, Virgil." Brains began unpeeling himself from the wall.

"Your plan worked then?" Tin-Tin asked as the magnetic field released its grip on her armour.

As Ned watched they floated away from the wall and over to Joe's bed. Brains hovered directly over Joe and inspected where an IV line was entering his arm, while Tin-Tin took his blood pressure. "They're not touching the floor! How are they doing that?"

No one answered him. So he watched the strange aerial ballet as Brains and Tin-Tin worked their way around Joe, checking various things and occasionally changing the solutions dripping into his arm.

"Five hundred metres," he heard John say. "Wind speed 263 knots"

Ned switched his attention back to the pilot of Thunderbird Two. Virgil was clearly fighting against Cyclone Sylvia. Ned glanced at the altimeter just as John gave an update, "one thousand metres."

The rain lashed at the window.

"One point five."

A lightning bolt streaked across Thunderbird Two's nose.

"Two thousand."

Tin-Tin replaced a bag of clear plasma with one of precious scarlet blood.

"Three thousand metres. Air pressure 635 kilopascals. Wind speed 265 knots."

More lightning.

Someone in the storm shelter shifted position, reminding Ned of where he was. He discovered that he'd been digging his nails into his palms and rubbed his hands together to get the circulation flowing again.

"Four thousand metres."

"Remind me, how high do they have to climb?" Ned asked.

Scott tried not to show his impatience with the reporter. "The cyclone is 18 thousand metres high."

"And where's this 'transition zone'?"

It was Gordon who responded. "They'll start feeling the effect at about seven or eight thousand metres."

"Oh."

"Four thousand five hundred metres," John intoned. "How's it going, Virgil?"

Virgil's reply was to the point. "Fine."

"Five thousand metres. 257 knots."

Ned looked around the room. Without exception each person had their eyes fixed on the wall, some watching Virgil, some watching the gauges, and some watching Brains and Tin-Tin at work.

"Five thousand five hundred."

Ned found himself transfixed by the altimeter.

"Six thousand metres."

A wind gust knocked Thunderbird Two about. Virgil's hands were dislodged from the control yoke.

He regained control.

"290 knots. Seven thousand metres."

More lightning wracked the sky.

"Seven two five zero, Thunderbird Two."

The scarlet bag had drained dry and Tin-Tin replaced it with another of clear liquid.

"Seven thousand five hundred metres. Air pressure 622 kilopascals. Wind speed two six two."

Brains flew gracefully across the sickbay and removed something from one of the drawers.

"Seven seven five zero. You're approaching the transition zone, Virgil."

"I know. I'm beginning to feel the effects. Slowing rate of ascent."

"Why?" Ned asked. "He should be going faster not…"

"Eight thousand metres."

Thunderbird Two was jarred by a crosswind. Virgil was flung back in his seat, nearly losing control of the yoke again.

"Eight thousand one hundred."

"Wind speed?" Virgil asked.

"Ah… 250, no… 275 easter… no, west… It's all over the show."

"Height?"

"Eight two five zero."

Thunderbird Two was being buffeted about from all directions.

"Whoa! Virgil!" John exclaimed. "You lost 200 metres then."

"Felt like it."

A lightning bolt zapped across their field of vision.

"Eight two seven five."

A gust of wind caught Thunderbird Two broadside. She rocked violently.

Virgil was sweating. He cuffed his brow with his sleeve and grabbed the yoke again.

"Nine thousand metres. You're halfway there, Thunderbird Two."

Ned glanced at the Tracys. He had a feeling that he could have stripped off his clothes and run around the shelter naked carrying the contents of Jeff Tracy's safe and they wouldn't have taken any notice of him.

He switched his attention back to the sick bay. He saw Tin-Tin look across to her colleague. "Brains! Something's wrong!"

Almost immediately there was an echo from the other side of the room. "John! Something's wrong," Virgil said. "I've lost power."

"How!"

It was obvious that Virgil was fighting the controls. "Engines are dead."

"What!"

"We're falling!"

"_B.P's falling!" Tin-Tin exclaimed._

"_Pump in the plasma!" Brains ordered. _

Those safe in the storm shelter were on their feet. Jeff Tracy had put a protective arm about his mother.

Ned wasn't a pilot, but he knew that the needle on the altimeter shouldn't be spinning in that direction at that speed. Nor should the numbers on that digital display be counting down that quickly…

"_What's his vital signs?" Brains asked._

"_Blood pressure 60 systolic, 50 diastolic. Still dropping!"_

"Air pressure 600 kilopascals. Altitude eight thousand five hundred. Still dropping!"

Virgil's knuckles were white as he gripped the control yoke, struggling to persuade Thunderbird Two to respond to something other than gravity.

"Pull out of that dive, Virgil," John was commanding. "Eight thousand metres."

"I can't! She's not responding…"

"_He's not responding, Tin-Tin."_

"_Pulse is faint. I can barely read it…"_

"_Breathing's erratic. Get the adrenaline ready. Got to steady his heart…"_

"Hold her steady, Virgil. Push through that rain band."

"I can't hold this heading!"

"Pull her nose up! Seven thousand metres."

"I've lost steering!"

"_I've lost his pulse!"_

_Brains flipped a switch and the head of Joe's bed fell back so the man was lying flat. The scientist began cardiac massage. "Where's the defibrillator…"_

"_Charging. 10 percent… 20 percent… 30 percent…"_

"We're in a 30 degree free fall! What's our height?"

"Six five… Six four…. Three… Two… One… Six thousand metres…"

"_One, two, three, four, five. Where's that defibrillator, Tin-Tin!"_

"_It's still charging, Brains. There's a power drain somewhere!"_

"Something's draining your power, Virgil!"

"Must be the sickbay!"

Thunderbird Two made a violent manoeuvre that was registered in the video link by Virgil being thrown sideways. He grasped the controls again.

"Whoa!" Alan exclaimed. "Did you see the attitude indicator? He just did a barrel roll!"

"That's not possible!" Scott contradicted. "Two's not built to survive a roll."

"Don't tell me! Tell Two!"

"Barrel roll!" Ned exclaimed. "What's that?"

Needing to do something Scott explained. "You've seen it at air shows. When a plane rolls wing to wing through 360 degrees or more…"

"Quiet!" Jeff barked, all his concentration on the screen in front of him.

Ned looked at Kyrano whose eyes were tightly shut and who appeared to be praying. Then he looked back at Virgil who'd paled significantly, but whose blood seemed to be returning to his cheeks.

"_Get another unit of whole blood ready."_

"_I can't. There's none left!"_

"_Where's that defibrillator?"_

"_Here, Brains." Tin-Tin handed him the hand pieces._

_Brains sent a jolt of electricity through the cameraman's body and then peered short-sightedly at his vital signs meter. "Didn't work. Charge it again." He began pumping at Joe's chest. "Where's that blood?"_

"_There's none left."_

"_None left!" Brains took a moment to glance at his assistant._

"_No. We only had a limited supply, remember?"_

"_Then give him more plasma while the defibrillator's recharging!"_

"_We need more power…"_

"Five thousand five hundred metres. You've got to shut down the sickbay, Virgil! You need more power! You'll crash otherwise!"

"Can't do that!" Virgil slammed his hand down on a button.

"It's three lives against one…"

"Emergency beacon on. Are you reading?"

"Yes, but…"

"Talk to you soon, John."

"Virgil! What…!"

A cry of dismay went around the storm shelter as all but one of the screens went blank. Grandma Tracy sank back down onto her seat.

"John! What's happened?" Jeff exclaimed.

"He's cut the communication link."

"Try to get through," his father ordered.

"It's no good. He's not responding!"

"He must be trying to get enough power to re-start the engines by shutting down all unnecessary systems," Scott hypothesised.

"But how much power would he save by cutting communications?" Gordon asked. "John?"

"Not much."

"What else would he try, Scott?" Alan was looking at his oldest brother for reassurance.

"Dunno…" Scott's brow was creased in thought. "I hate to think..."

"The emergency beacon's working," John informed them.

"What's Thunderbird Two doing, John?" Scott asked.

"Still falling… Five thousand… Four seven five zero… Four s… Hold on… He's arrested the rate of decent."

The Tracys listened intently.

"Four seven… Four seven… He's hovering… He's climbing... Four eight… Four nine…"

"Whew!" Scott let out a breath. "Whatever he did it worked."

"Try and get him back online, John" Jeff requested.

"Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Come in, Virgil."

…

"Calling Thunderbird Two…"

…

"Five thousand. This is Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two…"

…

"Five thousand one hundred. Thunderbird Five calling Th…"

"This is Thunderbird Two. We're okay, John."

John smiled as he heard the sounds of relief come from the storm shelter. "You sure gave us a fright, Brother."

Thunderbird Two's telemetry winked on, closely followed by the image of the sickbay. The head of Joe's bed was raised again and Tin-Tin was clearing things away as Brains took the sick man's pulse. There was none of the frantic activity that had been visible before.

Virgil's image reappeared. He was still fighting against the winds and rains of Cyclone Sylvia, but even so he still managed a wry grin. "If Scott's listening you can tell him he's welcome to take over at any time."

There was laughter in the storm shelter as everyone slumped back into their seats. "Tell him he's doing fine, John," Scott requested.

"Scott says that as you seem to be enjoying yourself so much, he doesn't want to spoil your fun," John paraphrased.

"Yeah, right," Virgil deadpanned.

"Do you want to shut the emergency beacon down?" John requested. "The sound of that thing gives me the creeps and you'll be sending every emergency service within a thousand k of you into a spin."

"Okay." Virgil did as he was bid. "Is that better?"

"Yep. I'll start transmitting the all clear," John continued talking as he did so. "So how'd you restart the engines? What did you do?"

"Shut down one or two unnecessary systems."

"Such as?" John asked, with an eyebrow raised. "I thought everything was necessary. You guys removed everything that wasn't."

Virgil's answer was glib. "I'll tell you later. I'd better check all's well in the sickbay before we start ascending again." Before he had a chance to be questioned further he switched links. "How's things going, Brains?"

"F-Fine, Virgil. We've had no problems you need worry about."

"Glad to hear it."

"How about you. H-How are things progressing?"

"Piece of cake," Virgil lied. "We're coming up to the transition zone now."

"G-Good. In that case I'll let you get b-back to work."

"Thanks, Brains… And congratulations on designing a fantastic 'plane."

Brains sounded surprised. "Uh, thank you, V-Virgil."

Virgil shut down the radio link.

"What did he mean by that?" Tin-Tin asked as she dropped her gloves into the rubbish disposal.

* * *

"I've been thinking," Scott announced. "And I'll bet he shut down the oxygen filtration system. That uses plenty of power. It feeds the whole ship." 

Gordon nodded. "But not the sickbay. That's on a separate system. I'll bet you're right."

"Uh, what's the oxygen filtration system?" Ned asked and fully expected be ignored again.

"It supplies clean air to the entire ship," Scott told him. "Shut it down and things'll get stale pretty quickly."

"Stale? Stale as in nothing to breathe?"

Scott nodded.

"But… But… That's crazy!" Ned spluttered. "How can he fly if he's dead?"

"I don't think that was the plan," Alan said. "There's an emergency oxygen cylinder beside the pilot's seat."

Ned's reporter's questioning instincts came to the fore. "But what if that didn't work? What would he have done then? Tin-Tin said they were isolated. Would Brains and Tin-Tin have known something was wrong? What could they have done? What if Virgil passed out before he'd got the oxygen mask on? What if…"

"What if you were to keep quiet!"

Ned stopped mid flow and stared at Jeff Tracy. The man was on his feet and he looked angry.

"What if you'd left us alone like you'd been asked to? What if you'd accepted Gordon's word that he didn't want to be interviewed?" Jeff stormed. "What if you'd never invaded our home? What if you hadn't tricked us into letting you stay here? What if you hadn't tried to film the cyclone?"

"Dad," Alan said. "Calm down."

"These last five days I've had to sit back and let you think that I – that WE are something we're not," his father raged. "Because of you we've had to pretend to be different people in our own home! Because of you I've had to deny the respect that I have for Gordon's achievements. Because of your actions you've endangered most of my family. Tin-Tin and Alan could have been killed when the herbarium gave way. And Gordon… Gordon's risked his neck twice to save you! We should have let the Empire State fall on you and then we wouldn't have this trouble now!"

"Dad," Gordon said in alarm. "You don't mean that."

"Gordon, Alan and Scott could have been hurt or killed when they rescued Joe. And now Virgil, Brains and Tin-Tin are out there in the middle of the worst cyclone of the century risking their lives just so he has a chance to live!"

Scott stood. He laid a gentle hand on his father's shoulder. "They'll be okay," he said quietly. "You know that."

If was as if Jeff didn't hear him. "I've had to send three people who are important to me into the middle of a cyclone in an untested airplane…"

"Father!" There was an urgency in Scott's voice.

"And you have the temerity to question my son's actions when he's trying to save your friend's miserable life!"

"Jefferson!" Grandma Tracy caught his attention. She held out her hand and spoke in a soothing voice. "Come here, Dear."

Jeff stopped. He took a deep breath and glared at Ned.

Ned lifted his hands in an 'I don't know' gesture. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing! I don't want to hear another word from you! Not a peep for as long as we're stuck here!" Jeff took a menacing step forward. "Understand!"

"Sit down, Mr Cook," Gordon requested. "Please."

"You all seem to forget that that IS my friend who's injured."

Jeff made a sudden movement and Scott took a step so he was a shield between his father and the reporter. "You! Sit!" He pointed at Ned and then into the corner.

Ned gave him a petulant stare. "I am not a dog."

"I said SIT," Scott barked.

Ned realised that there was something about Scott Tracy that commanded respect, and that that something wasn't restricted to the stature of the man. He sat.

Scott turned back to Jeff. "Go and sit down," he suggested in a quieter voice.

Jeff glanced at the video wall where John was watching proceedings, looked back at Scott, rubbed the palms of his hands on his trousers, and without a word sat down beside his mother.

Scott stood for a moment as if he were refereeing a boxing match and then took a seat halfway between the two men.

John had been listening to the altercation, glad of two things. One was that he was up in Thunderbird Five in relative safety. The second was that Virgil was unaware of what had just happened. His brother had enough to worry about dealing with one storm, without having to deal with the one occurring inside the shelter.

"John… John? Come in Thunderbird Five."

John became aware that Virgil was trying to contact him. "Sorry, Virg."

"You've stopped calling altitude."

"I got, ah, side-tracked."

"Do you think you could do that later? Things are getting a bit dicey here."

"Sorry," John apologised again. "You're at six thousand nine hundred metres… You're at six thousand nine hundred… You're at… Why have you stopped?"

Virgil was firing the jets so that Thunderbird Two was maintaining her position into the wind. "We're nearly at the transition zone again," his voice was quieter than usual. "I, ah, I though that everyone at home might like to… you know… um… talk to Brains and Tin-Tin about how Joe's doing."

John heard the familiar tuneful humming. "I understand, Virgil. Do you want to talk to them first?"

"No."

"When they've finished, huh?"

"Okay."

"Put me through to the sickbay." John waited a moment. "Can you two hear me?"

"John?" he heard Tin-Tin's voice. "What's wrong."

"Nothing. We just thought everyone from home would like to hear how Joe is."

Brains and Tin-Tin looked at each other. "Uh… O-Okay."

Jeff Tracy was the first to speak. He sounded calmer now. "How's Joe, Brains?"

"H-He's stable, Mr Tracy. If we can get him to h-hospital soon I am quietly confident."

"That's good... I want to thank you both for all you've done so far."

"I'm glad to be able to be of service," Brains said.

"We saw that you ran into a bit of trouble," Jeff added. "I take it that everything is under control now?"

Brains nodded.

"Is my father there?"

"I am here, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin smiled at the sound of her father's voice. "I feel as if we have been gone for ages."

"To me it too feels as though you have been gone days, not hours."

"I'll be glad when we've landed and got Joe safely to hospital."

"I am proud of you, my daughter."

Tin-Tin blushed. "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice.

"We're all proud of you," Jeff added. "We're proud of the both of you. You're an asset to the team."

"You'll have to tell us everything that happened when you get home," Alan piped up. "I'll be looking forward to that…"

"Amongst other things," Gordon teased.

"Brains," Scott diverted the conversation to something more seemly. "I've got a few ideas I'd like to go over with you when you get home. Thing's that'll improve safety on board Thunderbird Two."

Brains appeared surprised. "Has Virgil mentioned any problems?"

"Not mentioned them, no."

Brains blinked into the camera.

"When you've dropped Joe off at the hospital, give us a call," Grandma requested. "You can let me know what you'd like for dinner the evening you get home."

"Good idea!" Gordon's grin broadened. "We'll make it a real party. With party hats, party music, dancing, wine, women, song…"

"Just as long as you're not the one doing the singing, Gordon," Alan told him.

"We're holding you up," Jeff interrupted what promised to descend into an argument. "We'll let you get back to work."

"Th-Thank you, Mr Tracy."

"Does anyone have anything else they want to say?" Jeff looked at Ned.

Ned looked at Jeff.

"Mr Cook?"

Ned stood. "Uh… Thank you, Brains. And thank you, Tin-Tin. I know Joe's in good hands. I… uh… I wish I could do more to help. Tell him… Tell him that when he's feeling better, I hope we'll be working together again." He sat down again.

"Th-Thank you, Mr Cook," Brains replied. "I will do that."

_(1) _"Jumpa lagi, Tin-Tin," Kyrano said.

_(2)_ "Saya sayang akan kamu, Father."

"Bye, Brains. Bye, Tin-Tin," Gordon called, and was echoed by his brothers and Grandmother.

"See you soon," Jeff said. "Can you put us back to Virgil, John?"

"F-A-B."

Virgil was concentrating on keeping Thunderbird Two on an even keel. His humming had grown even louder.

"Virgil," Jeff called him to attention.

Virgil glanced at the video screen. "Hi, Father."

"How's it going, Son."

"As well as can be expected… How's everyone down there?"

"As well as can be expected… You did well before."

"Yeah, well. I did what I had to."

"Virg…"

"Yes, Scott?"

"Uh… Take care. I… I want you to show me how to pull Thunderbird Two out of a dive." Scott was speaking quickly now. "Might come in handy some day."

"Okay."

"Don't be away too long," Gordon said. "Grandma's promised to throw us a party when you all get home."

"I said I'd make something special for dinner," Grandma reminded him. "Unless," she turned back to the video image of her grandson, "you'd like me to arrange a party."

"Whatever you're happy with, Grandma."

"The party was Gordon's idea," Scott amended. "We'll get him to arrange it."

"Yeah," Alan added. "And you know what Gordon's parties are like. Unmissable."

"I'd better make sure I don't miss it then," Virgil replied.

"I will make some of my special punch," Kyrano offered.

"The party idea sounds even better now, Kyrano," Virgil managed a smile.

"You can tell us what music we should be playing," Gordon suggested.

"Virgil," Jeff interrupted the conversation. "If you don't think Thunderbird Two can make it through the transition zone, no one's going to hold it against you if you come home now."

Ned glanced at him but said nothing.

Virgil squared his shoulders. "No. I know what to do if we stall now. We can handle Sylvia."

"Thank you, Virgil." Ned had blurted out the words before he'd realised he'd said them. He looked fearfully towards Jeff and Scott Tracy, but they didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.

"I'll give you a call when we're through the overflow," Virgil said.

"You do that," Scott ordered.

"We'll be waiting," Alan added.

"That's if we don't call you first," Gordon said. "We've got a party to plan."

"He's right," Scott agreed. "We'll call you. We'll be watching your every move."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Virgil asked. "Knowing that big brother's watching?"

"I would have thought you'd be used to that by now," Alan complained. "I've had to live with it all my life."

"You know Scott's got a George Orwell complex," Gordon added.

"Boys." Jeff dragged their attention back to their present situation. "Let Virgil concentrate on flying Thunderbird Two. You can talk when he's above the cyclone."

"And he'll never get there if we hold him up any longer," Mrs Tracy said. "You be careful, Virgil Tracy. Get that man to hospital safely."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"We'll cease communications again, Virgil," Jeff decided. "We know this next bit's going to be tricky. Do whatever you need to, to keep safe."

"Yes, Sir. See you all topside."

"Bye, Vir…"

Virgil sighed. He knew everyone was still watching and listening to him but he couldn't suddenly help feeling alone. He pulled himself together. "Are you ready to give me the readings again, John?"

"Ready when you are."

"Okay. Ascending." Virgil pushed down on the throttle. "And, John…"

"Yes, Virgil."

"Thanks for everything."

"Yeah, sure," John said awkwardly. "No sweat."

Virgil felt the shaking through his plane increase as they rose steadily. He listened as John read out Thunderbird Two's altitude and felt the wind buffet his 'plane from all directions.

"Seven thousand metres high."

The Thunderbird shuddered as a westerly hit it full force.

"Wind speed 275."

The easterly dropped Thunderbird Two down 100 metres.

"Pressure 610 kilopascals."

Virgil fought against a downdraft.

"Height seven thousand one hundred."

The next gust rocked Thunderbird Two so severely that Virgil's head was slammed against the headrest.

John glanced at Two's altimeter.

It was at that moment that the radio link was lost.

_To be continued…_

_(1) Jumpa lagi See you again_

_(2) Saya sayang akan kamu I love you._

Malay source - Wikipedia 


	15. Anyone Home?

**Fourteen: "Anyone Home?"**

"This is Thunderbird Five calling base… Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue Headquarters. Come in please." John frowned as he adjusted the radio frequency. "Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue, come in International Rescue…" He waited expectantly.

Nothing.

He tried again. "Thunderbird Five calling International Rescue!"

Apart from the familiar chatter of the radio signals that Thunderbird Five was continuously receiving; there was no sound.

Now, seriously worried, he abandoned all protocol. "This is John calling Tracy Island. Can you hear me, Dad?"

…

"John calling Scott. Do you read me?"

…

"Come in, Gordon."

…

"Alan! It's John! Do you read me?"

…

Now, becoming increasingly desperate, he tried again. "Grandma…! Kyrano…! Mr Cook…! Anyone! Can – you – hear – me? Please – say something."

…

"Dad! Where are you? It's John…"

…

"Calling…"

Finally he heard a familiar voice. "John! We made it! We're above the cyclone…"

"Virgil…"

A clearly excited Virgil didn't appear to hear him. "We did it, John!"

"Virgil..."

"Thunderbird Two did it!"

"Virgil..."

"We kicked Sylvia's butt…"

"Virgil…"

"Man, I LOVE this plane!"

"Virgil!" John yelled, finally managing to interrupt Virgil's unaccustomed exuberance.

"What?"

"I've lost contact with home."

"You've what? Why? When?" John's announcement had a sobering effect on his brother.

"I don't know. I've been talking you through the storm and I thought they were leaving us alone to concentrate on that. I never thought there could be a problem."

"And you've tried contacting them…?"

"Tons of times. I've used different frequencies and haven't heard a sound. Weren't they in the storm shelter when you were talking to them?"

"Yes! Yes, they were… I think… Weren't they? You were talking to them last."

"The last real communication was when you talked to them. I didn't say much after that…At least I don't think I did."

"Father said he wouldn't send any more messages…"

"Maybe if I'd paid more attention I would have heard them say something. …"

"Maybe they've switched off the radio…"

"Maybe they tried to let me know there was a problem and I didn't hear them…"

"John! Calm down!"

"I am calm. You calm down!"

They both stopped to take a breath as Thunderbird Two soared beneath the black sky studded with silvery stars.

"Okay," John said. "Thinking rationally I'll bet I know what's happened. Were the winds knocking the house around at all?"

"I'll say. At times it was like we were in an earthquake." Virgil waited to hear his brother's hypothesis.

"That'll be it then. That system that Tin-Tin assembled was very temporary. The wind's vibrations have probably dislodged a connection. I'll bet anything that Alan and Scott are crawling around in the roof cavity right now, trying to mend the join with tin foil and bits of chewing gum. We'll probably hear from them any moment."

"Of course," Virgil said, greatly relieved. "That's got to be it. Still…" he added, "I won't mention it to Brains and Tin-Tin until we've dropped Joe off. They've got enough on their plates without worrying about this as well. In the meantime I'd better let them know that we're above the cyclone."

"Fair enough," John agreed. "You can tell them that I've alerted the authorities and they're waiting in this park with an ambulance." He gave the co-ordinates. "They've arranged to get Joe into surgery as soon as he arrives at the hospital."

Brains and Tin-Tin received the news that they were out of danger with relief. "H-How long before we reach the h-hospital, Virgil?" Brains asked.

"28 point six seven minutes. Is that going to be too long?"

Brains looked down at the unconscious Joe's vital signs monitor. "N-No. He's stable. I wouldn't want to l-leave it too much longer though."

"It should be a smooth flight from here on," Virgil reassured him. "I can't see us facing any more problems."

"I suppose everyone at home is relieved," Tin-Tin said. "Have you spoken to them, Virgil?"

"Ah, no," Virgil prevaricated. "I haven't had the opportunity yet."

Twenty five minutes later found John looking out of one of Thunderbird Five's viewports down onto Cyclone Sylvia. Tracy Island was hidden somewhere beneath that swirling morass of cloud and it had been half an hour since he'd realised that they'd lost communications with that tiny dot in the Pacific Ocean. Half an hour since that knot in the pit of his stomach had formed. What was Sylvia hiding?

"Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Five."

John crossed the floor and picked up the microphone. "Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Virgil."

"Anything?"

"Negative."

"We're on the outskirts of the city. I've made contact with the hospital. Brains says we can't land soon enough."

"Is Joe deteriorating?"

"I don't think so, but he wasn't that hot to start with. Brains is being cautious."

"Understood. I've told Penny to expect you."

"Thanks, John. But I'd rather be heading home. I don't suppose Sylvia's dissipated, has she?"

"Sorry, Virgil. I've been watching her and she looks as fearsome as she was when you flew through."

"Well I won't chance flying through her again, not while Brains and Tin-Tin are on board," Virgil sighed. "There's the park… Talk to you soon, John."

"F-A-B. Hopefully I'll have news."

In some cities it was hard finding clear areas with enough room for the behemoth that was Thunderbird Two to land. They were lucky this time. A cordon of official looking cars were blocking all the entrances to the park, and several ambulances stood nearby. Virgil brought Thunderbird Two down low and then gently, compensating for her reduced weight, landed on the grass. "Flight deck to sickbay. We've landed," he announced. "I'll come down and give you a hand."

"Th-Thank you, Virgil."

It was with infinite care that they moved Joe out of Thunderbird Two and into the hands of the paramedics. He was quickly borne away in an ambulance that had moved in to assist. One of the officials stayed behind and took notes as Brains and Tin-Tin detailed events leading up to Joe's accident and his subsequent care.

Virgil had decided that he didn't need to be involved in the debriefing side of things and was doing a circuit of Thunderbird Two. He had nearly completed his visual inspection of the 'plane's exterior, when he heard what sounded like an argument. Looking over to one of the park's entrances he saw a tall, overweight, well-dressed man holding a loud discussion with a member of the local constabulary.

"I'm telling you, Officer. I have to speak to International Rescue!"

Virgil recognised the man's build and his voice. He slunk into the shadow of the cavity where Thunderbird Two's pod should have been and watched as the man pushed past the policeman and strode onto the park. Every movement was that of a man who knew what he wanted and was assured that he was going to get it.

Virgil raised his watch. "John! Activate Tin-Tin and Brains' rescue alerts!"

"What? Why?"

"Just do it!" Virgil insisted as he crept along Thunderbird Two's bulkhead from port to starboard. Now he was able to see the man who'd been, yet again, accosted by the police officer. Glancing in his colleagues' direction Virgil saw the pair of them look at their watches and then each other with quizzical expressions. "Come on," he muttered. "Move!"

The man was once again loudly insisting that he be allowed to talk to the people from International Rescue and was gesturing towards the engineer and his assistant. "I am a friend of Jeff Tracy's. I need to know that he is all right!"

"John!" Virgil hissed. "Sound the alerts again. I'll talk to you when I'm on the flight deck."

"F-A-B," John replied.

A short time later and Virgil was seated in his pilot's seat; once again talking to John. "Are Brains and Tin-Tin heading this way?" he asked.

"Yes. They're entering Thunderbird Two now. What's wrong?"

"We had some unwanted company."

"Company? Who do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean Stanton Carr's here. He's asking about Father."

"Stanton Carr?" John queried. "'Uncle Stanton'? How did he…" his voice petered out. "Ah. Of course. He's the big wig of Mediaworx Corporation, which owns NTBS. I told the hospital that I didn't know Joe's next of kin, but I knew he was working for the network. They would have contacted his bosses to get more information."

"And his bosses would have known that he and Ned Cook were on Tracy Island. For some reason someone decided to tell 'Uncle Stanton' and he's worried that one of his major source of funds is about to dry up."

Although Jeff Tracy was a major shareholder in Mediaworx, the largest media organisation in the world, he, in general, loathed the media and media people. His main purpose for investing in the company was to keep track of what information on International Rescue was being collected by the press. At the onset of his involvement he'd simply mentioned that, like most people in the world, he was fascinated by this secretive band of white knights and wanted to know all that he could about them. Bowing down to his immense wealth and power within the company, the management had offered to send copies of every scrap of information that crossed their desks directly to him.

Stanton Carr was the Chief Executive Officer of Mediaworx. Arrogant, ignorant and fawning to power and money, he was universally reviled by the Tracy boys. They nevertheless tried to be polite to him in his presence. Having known him since they were teenagers they'd all called him 'Uncle Stanton'; the uncle being an honorary title without any honour attached.

"Wh-What's going on, Virgil?" Brains asked as he and Tin-Tin entered the cockpit.

"Stanton Carr wants to talk to someone from International Rescue," Virgil told him.

"Stanton Carr? Your 'Uncle' Stanton?" Tin-Tin exclaimed.

"He's not ours. We don't want him," Virgil said.

"What's he doing here?" Tin-Tin asked.

"He's heard Tracy Island's being clobbered by a cyclone," John explained.

"I'm beginning to think that Ned Cook's put a curse on us," Tin-Tin said. "He's determined to expose us in one way or another."

"How'd he get past the cops?" Virgil asked, watching the drama outside through a closed circuit video.

Stanton Carr knocked on Thunderbird Two's hull. It was like an ant knocking on a sealed jar of jam. A policeman politely took him by the arm and tried to drag him away, but he shook him off.

"Blast him with the VTOLs, Virg," John suggested. "Go on. You know you want to."

"Nah, I couldn't take out the police as well," Virgil said as he watched another policeman try to help the first. "I can pretend to though…" He entered a code into Thunderbird Two's computer.

Outside a synthesised voice sounded. "Attention! Thunderbird Two will be lifting off in 20 seconds… 19… 18…"

The International Rescue members watched as the police officers tugged harder at Carr's arms.

"17… 16… 15…"

Lights within Thunderbird Two's VTOL jet ducts started to glow red.

"14… 13… 12…"

The glow grew brighter and stronger.

"11… 10…"

The police officers looked at each other as hot air started wafting out of the jets. One of them withdrew his handcuffs.

"9… 8…"

Stanton Carr protested as his hands were fastened behind him.

"7… 6…"

"The guy's an idiot," John said as he watched as 'Uncle Stanton' was marched away from Thunderbird Two by two policemen.

On the count of 'one', when he was sure those outside were clear of the heat and fumes from the real VTOL jets, Virgil launched his aircraft into the air. As Thunderbird Two swung around so she was facing towards England, Brains and Tin-Tin watched the police release the media mogul. They were rewarded with a tongue lashing as Stanton Carr withdrew a Personal Digital Assistant from his pocket.

"I don't believe it," John said. "They've just saved his life and he's getting their numbers!"

Tin-Tin laid a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "You look exhausted. Would you like me to fly Thunderbird Two for a while?"

He flashed her a smile. "No thanks, Honey. I'm okay." Before she could protest he turned back to his brother. "You realise it won't be long before 'Uncle Stanton' will be giving you a call, John."

John grimaced. "I might be lucky and he'll try to ring you."

"Won't do him any good," Virgil reminded him. "I don't have my 'phone with me. Besides, you know he works. He believes in following the rules of hierarchy. He won't be able to reach Scott, so you'll be next in line."

The 'phone' on Thunderbird Five rang.

"Told you," Virgil said as John rolled his eyes and picked up the handset that would mute all the extraneous sounds of Thunderbird Five. Then pushing the button that would allow those on Thunderbird Two to hear both sides of the conversation, he spoke. "John Tracy speaking."

"John. It's Stanton Carr."

John pretended to be pleased to receive the call. "Uncle Stanton. How are you?"

"Worried," Stanton Carr didn't sound it. "I hear your father's been trapped by a cyclone."

"Yes. Most of the family's stuck on the island."

"International Rescue have just dropped that cameraman fellow..."

"Joe," John interrupted.

"What?"

"His name is Joe."

"Whatever. Anyway my sources told me he was filming Alan on Tracy Island..."

"Gordon," John informed him. "They wanted to film Gordon."

He doubted if Stanton Carr heard him, as the man carried on without a beat. "... And I was worried about your father. How is he?"

John hesitated a moment. "To be honest, Sir, I don't know. I haven't been able to contact home."

Brains and Tin-Tin looked at each other and then at the man in Thunderbird Two's pilot seat. "V-Virgil?" Brains asked.

"He's telling the truth, isn't he?" Tin-Tin was looking frightened.

"I'm sure they're okay," Virgil tried to be reassuring, "but John lost contact at least half an hour ago. Don't worry," he added when he saw Tin-Tin's expression. "He reckons that the wind's probably loosened one of the connections in your antenna. They'll be fixing it as we speak."

Tin-Tin shook her head. "That's unlikely. John discussed this with me when he explained the plan. All the wires are securely crimped together and then bound with electrical tape. It would take more than wind vibration to loosen them."

Stanton Carr was oblivious to the concerns held by those in Thunderbird Two. "As you know, your father is a dear friend of mine, John."

"Yes, Sir," John said, not really believing him.

"I would hate for anything to happen to him."

"I wouldn't like it either," John told him. "To him or anyone in my family."

"No, of course you wouldn't. How are they by the way?"

"I don't know. They're on the island."

"Ned Cook went out there to interview Alan, didn't he?"

"Gordon," John corrected again. "They went out to film Gordon."

"Oh that's right," Stanton Carr agreed. "They were doing a documentary about his, ah, um, communication inventions."

"No," John said slowly. "They were filming, at least they wanted to film, Gordon about his Olym…"

"I know your father was excited to know that we were making a documentary about his son."

"No he wasn't," John said through gritted teeth. "He and Gordon both asked Ned Cook to leave them alone."

"Really?" Carr appeared surprised. "Why?"

"You know how private my father is," John reminded him. "That's why he lives on an island."

"Oh, yes. Of course," Carr gave an ingratiating laugh. "Though I'm sure I don't know why he wants to hide away. There's no such thing as bad publicity."

"Uncle Stanton," John said. "I hate to be rude, but I'd like to try and see if I can get hold of my family again. Would you mind if we…"

"Why? Can't your brothers do that?"

"They're on the…" John gave up. "I'll call you later. Bye." He disconnected the phone call.

"You're going to be in his bad books, hanging up like that," Virgil noted.

"Nah. He'll get us mixed up as usual. He'll probably blame Scott, the artist."

"John," Tin-Tin cut through the banter. "We sealed the connections like you said. And we triple checked them. The wind can't have jarred them loose."

"I was hoping you weren't going to tell me that, Tin-Tin."

"Could the cyclone be creating some kind of interference?" Virgil asked as he steered Thunderbird Two through a fluffy white cloud.

"Unlikely," John said. "What do you think, Brains?"

"I have to agree, John. The signal output at h-home might be weak, but the receivers on Thunderbird Five are designed to compensate for that. Th-The only way Thunderbird Five won't pick up a message would be if there's not one being transmitted."

Tin-Tin wrapped her arms about her body and tried to squash the feeling of fear that flooded her system…

_To be continued…_


	16. Day One

**Fifteen – Day One**

Thunderbird Two sat like a giant folly in the middle of a hollow at Foxleyheath, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's ancestral lands.

Her ladyship sat in the large library at the back of the manor, a glossy magazine in her hands. From here she could see the top and tail spoiler of the Thunderbird. She could also see three of her friends. Virgil was in the garden under a leaden sky, walking back and forth. In one corner of the room Tin-Tin was 'reading' a clothing catalogue, but, Lady Penelope had noted, she hadn't turned the page in the last twenty minutes. In an opposing corner Brains was scribbling in a notebook and invariably crossing out everything he wrote.

"M'lady," Parker said quietly. He was carrying a silver tea service. "Mister John for you."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope accepted the teapot and turned the ebony knob. "Lady Penelope speaking."

"Hello, Penny. I was just calling to let you know there's no news."

"I don't know whether I should say 'thank you' or offer my commiserations. What is Cyclone Sylvia doing at present?"

"She's on the move, but not so as you would notice. If Virgil tries to do anything foolish, like take off in Thunderbird Two, stop him."

"He is not doing much at the moment," Lady Penelope admitted.

"Just sketching is he?"

"No. He has ordered some supplies, but they have not arrived yet."

"So what is he doing?" John asked.

Lady Penelope pursed her lips. "We seem to have struck that language barrier that you Americans so delight in putting up. He said he was going to do what he called, 'stretch his legs and enjoy being outside in the sun after being trapped inside for so long'. I, on the other hand, would call it pacing. We're in the middle of an English winter and won't be seeing any sun until sometime in May."

"Is he humming?"

"I don't know," Lady Penelope admitted. "I'm inside enjoying the warmth of the fire."

"I'm about to give you an insight into the psyche of Virgil Tracy, Penny. If he's humming the same particular tune over and over, then you're right, he's pacing because he's worried."

"Really?" Lady Penelope looked back at the man in the garden.

"Yep," John confirmed. "The odd thing is that the only one in the family unaware that he does this is Virgil. Mention it to him and he''ll deny it."

"Do you think he's got anything to worry about?" Lady Penelope asked quietly. "Are you worried, John?"

"Me? I've given up worrying about those guys. Why should this be any different?"

"Because it's not only 'those guys' this time."

"True," John admitted. "Okay, I'll admit that I'm a little concerned. If it had been a loose connection they would have found and fixed it by now, it's been nearly 24 hours."

Parker reappeared carrying a tray of petite cakes. Lady Penelope thanked him.

"Morning tea?" John asked.

"Do excuse me, John," Lady Penelope apologised with regret. "I'm hoping it will help take everyone's minds off, ah, things."

She heard a dry chuckle. "Care to send some up to Thunderbird Five to see if it would take my mind off things?"

"I wish I could help… Chin up, dear boy. I'm sure they'll be fine."

"I hope you're right, Penny… I won't interrupt your morning tea again unless I have news. See ya."

"Goodbye, John." Lady Penelope snapped the knob back into position and replaced the teapot on the table.

"Shall H-I get Mister Virgil?" Parker asked.

"Yes, do, Parker. A good strong cup of coffee will help to warm him up. He must be freezing out there. He didn't bring a lot to wear."

"Very good, M'lady… Ah," Parker held out a piece of paper. "This h-is what the cook 'ad planned for dinner. H-I think dessert might not be exactly tactful."

Lady Penelope read through the menu. "No, I see what you mean." She crossed out 'apple pie' before returning the paper to the butler. "Tell Cook that dessert can be a surprise."

Parker nodded. Then he leant closer to his mistress, whispering in a manner that suggested that he was indulging in a conspiracy. "H-I never thought Cook's was h-as good h-as Mrs T's anyway."

"You'd better get Virgil, Parker. His coffee is getting cold and it's starting to rain."

"Yes, M'lady."

Lady Penelope turned in her chair. "Morning tea is served, Tin-Tin, Brains."

"Thank you, Lady Penelope," Tin-Tin offered her hostess a smile and dropped the catalogue onto a table as she moved closer.

"Have you found anything to interest you?" Lady Penelope enquired as she poured the young woman a cup of tea.

Tin-Tin shook her head. "I suppose I'm not in the mood for shopping at the moment."

"Come now," Lady Penelope rebuked her gently. "That's not like you. Shall I ask Parker to get the Rolls Royce out and we can go for a drive up to Bond Street? It would do you good to get out."

"No, thank you," Tin-Tin declined. "If you don't mind I'd rather stay here."

"We have the radio in the car," Lady Penelope reminded her. "John would be able to reach us should he hear something."

Tin-Tin gave a small smile and shook her head.

"And you, Brains?" Lady Penelope asked as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "What have you been working on so industriously this morning?"

"I-I've been trying to form a theory as t-to why we've lost contact with Tracy Island," he admitted.

"And have you?" Tin-Tin asked.

Brains held up the pad of scratchings. "No." He placed the pad on the arm of his chair and started scribbling again.

Lady Penelope decided against reminding him that in her house 'everything stopped for tea'.

Virgil entered the library, shaking water off his clothes. Instead of heading to an easy chair he stood with his back to the fire. "I don't want to soak your furniture, Penny," he said as he accepted a steaming cup of coffee from Parker. He sipped the hot drink with appreciation.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let that worry you, dear boy. These things are so old!"

"Old enough to be valuable antiques," he reminded her. "Anyone heard from John lately?"

"Yes," Lady Penelope admitted. "But he had nothing of interest to impart."

There was silence in the room.

Parker entered again carrying some boxes. "The courier's been. Come h-and get it… ah… I mean. These h-are yours, Mister Virgil." He handed Virgil two parcels; one rectangular and flat and the other smaller but more bulky. "Miss Tin-Tin." Tin-Tin accepted her large box with thanks. "Mister Brains."

Tin-Tin opened her carton and pulled out a chunky woollen jumper, which she instantly put on. "That's better. It takes ages for me to acclimatise to English winters after spending summer on the island."

Brains hadn't opened his parcels, instead placing them under his chair. "And what have you purchased, dear boy?" Lady Penelope asked.

"A v-variety of items," he said as he peered over his glasses at her. Obviously believing that this was a sufficient explanation, he returned to his notebook.

Virgil had finally claimed a seat and was in the process of opening the bulkier of his two parcels. "Great!" he exclaimed pulling out a portable music player and some headphones. "Would you mind if I used your computer to download some tunes later, Penny?"

Brains looked up sharply, as Lady Penelope replied. "Of course, Virgil. Feel free to treat this as your home."

"Thanks."

Lady Penelope looked at Virgil's and then Brains' parcels. "I do hope you gentlemen have purchased something warm to wear as well. You did not arrive with much in the way of clothing."

"Us? Clothes?" Virgil laughed. "We men don't worry about trivial things like clothing, do we, Brains?" There was no response. "Brains?"

Brains looked up. "Sorry, V-Virgil. You were saying?"

"Never mind," Virgil sighed. "I asked Parker to leave anything that looked like it came from a clothes shop in the foyer. I'll take them up to my room later."

"H-I've taken the liberty h-of h-already doing that for you, Mister Virgil," Parker confessed.

"Thanks, Parker."

The day dragged on and the night closed in. Unlike tropical evenings where night appeared to jump out at you suddenly, English dusk was a long drawn out process, during which the occupants of the Crieghton-Ward manor finished a solemn meal and retired to their various quarters.

Up in Thunderbird Five, John was finding himself in a state of confusion. His habit was to maintain the daylight patterns of Tracy Island. Now that the only relative he could contact was on the far side of the world, he was feeling the desire to pretend that he was in that time zone. The problem was that he wasn't tired. Not only that, he didn't want to stray too far from Thunderbird Five's control room. He knew full well that he would hear anything of importance in his living quarters, but the need to learn the fate of his family made him uncomfortable at the thought of leaving the radio.

John glanced down at the blanket and pillow that he'd piled tidily beside his chair. He'd try to call Tracy Island one more time and then turn in for the night. He'd slept in that chair before when his brothers had been away on long and dangerous rescues, and had found it reasonably comfortable. He reached out to initiate contact with home…"

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Hi, Virgil."

"I'm just about to turn in. Have you heard anything?"

"Negative. I was going to going to try and call them again when you called."

Virgil managed a smile. "Okay. I'll let you do that. Give me a yell if you hear anything."

"You can count on it, Brother. You'll know nearly as soon as I do. You'll hear me cheering from the other side of the world."

Virgil chuckled. "Don't wake the neighbours."

John smiled. "Whatever response I get, I'll talk to you soon."

"Thanks, John. Bye."

John reached for the switch again.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Evening, Tin-Tin."

"I was heading off to bed and I was wondering, have you heard anything?"

John managed to chuckle. "I've just had Virgil on the line asking the same thing. I haven't heard anything and I'm going to try once again before I turn in myself."

"Call me if you learn anything," Tin-Tin pleaded. "I miss not being able to say good night to my father."

"And I'm sure he's missing you too, Honey. Don't worry and try to get some sleep. I'll call you if I hear anything."

"Thank you, John. Good night."

"Night, Tin-Tin." Once again John reached for the switch.

Once again he was thwarted.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Brains. What can I do for you?" John said, knowing it was a stupid question.

"H-Have you m-made contact?"

"Sorry, Brains. Not a word. Have you had any ideas?"

"N-No. Sorry, John, I haven't."

"Don't apologise. I haven't either."

"C-Call me if you h-hear anything."

"You can count on it. Night, Brains."

"Good night, John."

Shaking his head ruefully, John reached out…

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Hello, Lady Penelope. I wasn't expecting you to call."

"I was hoping you had heard something."

"Penny, if I did I would have called Virgil, Tin-Tin and Brains. And then you would have heard the cheers from the other side of that house of yours."

"I suppose you are right, John. Still, one likes to reassure oneself."

"Not a problem. Have a good night's sleep."

"You too, dear boy. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"G'night, Penny."

John made one final attempt to contact his home.

"Callin' Thunderbird Five. 'Scuse me callin', Mister John."

"Parker?"

"H-I was wonderin'…"

"I haven't heard anything, Parker. And don't worry, I was planning on letting you know when I did."

"Thank you, Sir. H-I would appreciate h-it."

"No worries."

"Good night, Sir."

"Good night, Parker."

The line went quiet.

"Finally!" John reached out to flip the switch that would send a signal to Tracy Island.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Virgil! Will you leave me alone for five minutes!"

"I did! When you hadn't called back I thought that maybe you had got through and were talking to them."

"I haven't called back because I haven't had the chance to radio home. I've spoken to you, Tin-Tin, Brains, Lady Penelope, and even Parker. The only person that hasn't called me to ask if I'd heard anything is Uncle Stanton…"

The phone rang.

John groaned.

"Is it him?" Virgil asked.

John looked at caller-ID. "Yep."

"Ignore him."

"He'll only call back again after he's tried the rest of you guys. He knows he can still contact me."

"In that case, I'll leave you to deal with our beloved 'Uncle' and then you can try to call home. And then…"

"And then I'll promise to call you. I won't answer any more calls. Even if the World President gives me a buzz to see how the family is I won't answer."

"The World President?"

"It was a joke, Virgil. I haven't spoken to her, but going on my luck so far it won't be long before I do."

The phone rang again.

"Go tell him you've been talking to your Air Force Buddies, and you've got your racing manager on the other line," Virgil suggested.

"And once I've finished with those two calls I'm going to paint a picture of the ocean before I have a swim in it," John laughed. "Okay, Virg. I'll talk to you soon. But don't call me, I'll call you."

"F-A-B."

_To be continued…_


	17. Day Two

**Sixteen – Day Two**

He was floating through the lounge at home and the room was in disarray. Furniture had been overturned and smashed. Peering into the open body of the piano, a small grey fish stared back at him before darting for cover beneath the instrument's strings. He turned, swimming through the rest of the house. As he swam down the hall the palm trees lining it fell back, creating currents that brushed against his face and hands.

Now he'd reached the storm shelter. With a deep breath he pushed the button that slid open the electric door.

His family were in there.

They hadn't stood a chance.

As he watched, Tin-Tin floated past, caught up in a deathly embrace with her father and Alan. There was Gordon. Upside-down, a big goofy smile on his face as though he'd finally achieved his dream of living under water. Grandma was still holding her knitting and the wool had wrapped around Scott, tying him to Mobile Control. Ned Cook was holding a camera, which whirred even though it had long ago run out of film.

Now his father floated into view, face down, arms outstretched. No, that wasn't right. His father had always looked to the stars in life, and in death he would continue to do so. Reaching out he took the hand that had held him when he was a child, and watched in horror as the flesh fell away, exposing brilliant white bones. They began to fall… Sparkling, shining, like tiny stars, each making a sound as they landed on the floor of the storm shelter that should have protected them all.

The bones still fell… The tinkling sound continued…

John woke up. The sound he'd heard in his dream had persisted, telling him that someone was trying to reach him. He opened communications. "Thunderbird Five."

"John?" Virgil looked and sounded surprised. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

John rang his hand over his face and tried to push the memory of his nightmare to the back of his mind. "I'm glad you did."

"Bad dream?"

"Yeah. I dreamt they were all dead. They'd drowned in the storm shelter."

"That's unlikely, John," Virgil reminded him. "It's watertight."

"I know, but tell my subconscious that."

Virgil looked at his brother appraisingly. "Have you been sleeping in your uniform?"

"Yeah. In my chair," John pushed his hand through his hair. "I don't want to leave the communications room in case they call."

"You'd hear them anywhere on Thunderbird Five."

"I know, but I'm happier keeping close."

Virgil made no comment about this statement. "What was the dream?"

"You don't want to know. The only good thing about it was that it made a change from the recurring one I've been having."

"Are you going to tell me about it?"

John managed a chuckle. "It's like a scene out of the 'Wizard of Oz'. The whole house is picked up by the cyclone and is taken to China."

"China? Why China?"

"I don't know. I just know that when I find them there, they're trying to talk to me and I can't understand a word they're saying."

"But you understand Chinese."

"I know some dialects, but not this one. I'm not even sure if it's Chinese they're speaking." John chuckled again. "Can you imagine Scott's frustration when he tries to order me about and I don't know what he's saying?"

Virgil laughed. "I think your subconscious is rebelling. You're sick of being the second kid."

"No," John turned thoughtful. "I'm not sick of that. I'm sick of not knowing that they're all okay."

"You and me both, John," Virgil agreed. "What do you think's happened?"

"Something's got to have happened to the antenna! Maybe the roof's leaked."

"You don't think it's something more serious?"

"I'm trying not to think that." John changed the subject. "Have you had any interesting dreams lately?"

"I'd like to say yes, but I can't even say no," Virgil admitted. "I haven't been able to sleep since we arrived in England. I've got this nagging pain in my knee. It's like something's irritating a nerve."

"Pain?" John looked at his brother in concern. "Did you knock it during the flight? You were thrown about a bit."

"Maybe. I don't remember hitting it. The weird thing is that my leg only hurts at night when I'm trying to get to sleep. I'm fine when I'm moving about during the day."

"Have you seen Brains about it?"

"No. There's no point worrying him, he's got enough to worry about as it is. Besides, usually by the time I'm up and dressed the pain's gone and I've forgotten about it." Virgil yawned. "I tried to take a nap this afternoon, but couldn't fall asleep. I'm tired enough, but I don't know if I'm not sleeping because of my leg, or if it's because my body clock's confused at suddenly finding itself on the other side of the world, or if it's because I'm worried."

"And are you worried?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yes…"

* * *

Lady Penelope had permitted Brains to make use of her computer and he was occupying himself by trying to hack into Thunderbird Five. Parker brought him a cup of coffee and found the little scientist surrounded by cartons that had been delivered over the last two days, various pieces of electronics and a computer that looked as though a small bomb had been placed under it. "Mister Brains!"

Brains hadn't heard the butler enter. Startled, he dropped the circuit board he was holding. "Don't d-do that!" he insisted. "The static electricity in the carpet will ruin it." He retrieved the board and studied it morosely.

"'Er ladyship's computer!" Parker exclaimed. "What 'ave you done to h-it?"

"I'm improving it, P-Parker," Brains said with dignity.

"H-Improvin' h-it?" Parker looked aghast at the mess.

"Y-Yes. It was very out of d-date."

"Out of date?" Parker repeated. "She only bought it last month."

"'Last month' means last year's t-technology," Brains explained. "I'm employing next year's."

"By destroyin' h-it?"

"I can assure you, Parker, it will be b-better when I've finished with it."

"What h-are you tryin' to do h-anyway?"

"I want to access the c-computers on board of Thunderbird Five. I want to see if there's been any s-seismic activity in the area lately."

Parker wasn't slow to cotton on. "You think there might 'ave been h-an h-earthquake on the island h-and h-it's done somethin' to the shelter?"

"Th-That, unfortunately, is a possibility that I am f-f-forced to contemplate. V-Volcanic eruption is another possibility."

"Lumme."

"Or if a c-crack had opened up in the strata above the house, d-destablising the rock face and c-causing a rockfall."

"H-Is that possible?"

Brains nodded. "Tracy I-Island had sustained a lot of rain in a sh-short time." He turned back to the computer. "I hadn't had the opportunity to access the g-geological data obtained from the i-island's seismic equipment b-before the c-cyclone hit. Th-There will be backups of all the d-data, up until when the r-radio mast collapsed, in Thunderbird Five's computers. If I can access them it may g-give us a better idea of, ah, what we're up against."

"Why don't you just h-ask Mister John, to check h-it h-out 'imself?"

"John is w-worried enough as it is. I w-wouldn't w-want to add to his burden."

"No…" Parker agreed.

Brains bit the end of a screwdriver in thought. "Surely the fates couldn't be so c-cruel as to wipe out an entire family," he said to himself.

"No," Parker nodded. "Not twice h-in one person's lifetime h-anyway."

"No," Brains agreed, and then looked sharply at the butler.

Parker gave him a smile, such as a benign uncle would bestow on a favourite nephew, and turned to leave. "H-If 'er Ladyship asks, H-I'll tell 'er you're repairin' h-it."

"Thank you, er, Parker."

* * *

The model paraded up and down the elegant Persian rug. "'As you see," the woman standing proudly to one side noted, "we 'ave created a gown wheech will flow with the wearrer."

"Indeed," Lady Penelope murmured appreciatively. "What do you think, my dear?" She turned to Tin-Tin.

"What?" Tin-Tin looked at her blankly. "Oh!" She looked back at the model. "It's lovely."

"Would you per'aps prefer somethink in another coleur?"

"Shantelle is right," Lady Penelope agreed. "This is not quite your colour, Tin-Tin. What would you recommend, Shantelle?"

"Get moi the swatches, Veronique."

"Oui," Veronique, the model, opened a satchel and pulled out a selection of materials. She handed them to Shantelle who flicked through them.

"Mademoiselle would suit a bold coleur. Per'aps... orrange. An orrange as bright as the flame from a rockit?" Triumphant she held up a colour similar to that of Thunderbird Three.

Tin-Tin made an unintelligible sound.

Lady Penelope leant over and patted her on the arm. "He will be all right."

"I wasn't thinking about Father," Tin-Tin admitted.

"Neither was I."

"Oh!" Tin-Tin blushed. "I was thinking about all of them…"

Lady Penelope smiled an understanding smile before turning back. "Thank you, Shantelle. You have given Tin-Tin and myself plenty to think about. I will contact you soon."

Shantelle gave her a stiff smile in return. "Merci, Madame."

"Parker will show you out." Lady Penelope pulled on the bell-pull, as swatches and various items of clothing were packed away.

"You rang, M'Lady?"

"Yes, Parker. Mademoiselle Shantelle is leaving. Kindly help her with her bags."

"Certainly, Madam." Parker bowed and picked up some of the many cases. He carried them out to the car.

"Au revoir, Madame," Shantelle said, as she and Veronique retired from the room.

"Au revoir," Lady Penelope replied. "I will be in touch."

The doors closed behind the French ladies.

"Well, that was a complete shower, Shazza," Veronique said, when they were alone in the hall.

"Shhh, Ronnie!" 'Shantelle' hissed. "They'll hear you. We're supposed to be French, remember?"

"I remember," Veronica griped. "Which means all I get to say is 'oui', and 'non'. Hardly stimulating conversation, isn't it? 'Er Ladyship' wasn't even interested in what you were showin' her."

"Ronnie!" Sharon turned to face the model. "Lady Penelope's our ticket to the big time. It won't hurt you to forget that you're my kid sister occasionally and to pretend you're a top international model. All you need to do is smile and look beautiful. I've got the hard job, I've got to try and get inside the minds of these toffs and work out what they want that'll make them part with their not so hard earned cash."

They started when someone cleared his throat. "H-Is there h-anything else, Ladies?" Parker asked.

"Non," Veronique said.

"Non," Shantelle echoed. "Merci, Parkur."

"Merci, Madame," Parker bowed. He watched as they climbed into their car and drove away down the long, winding driveway. Then he closed the front door and retreated to the lounge where Lady Penelope was talking to Tin-Tin. "H-Excuse me, M'lady."

"Parker?"

"May H-I 'ave a word?" Parker gestured with his head to indicate that he wished to speak to her ladyship out of Tin-Tin's hearing.

"Excuse me," Lady Penelope apologised to her friend. "What is it, Parker?"

"The young ladies 'oo just left," he whispered. "H-I have reason to believe that they h-aren't what they seem."

Lady Penelope smiled. "Have you only just learnt that?"

Parker stared at her. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. 'Shantelle's' accent is simply appalling. She knows next to no French and doesn't know any of the landmarks of her, supposedly, native Paris. Also no real designer of any stature would visit a client at their home. They would expect me to visit them."

"H-If you knew, why do you let them come 'ere?"

"I believe in supporting up and coming talent. If that means being a patron to 'Shantelle', who is obviously talented and would do well if she stopped trying to be something she's not, then I am willing to do so."

Parker shook his head, trying to make sense of this logic. "'Ow's Miss Tin-Tin?"

"Not herself, I'm afraid. How's Brains?"

"Tryin' to keep busy," Parker prevaricated.

"And Virgil?"

"Last I 'eard 'e was up in 'is room talkin' to Mister John. They was tryin' to work h-out why Tracy Island's not answerin'."

"Last you heard, Parker?" Lady Penelope raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"There was h-a bit h-of dust on the floor by the door. Me ear 'appened to rest by the key 'ole."

"Parker!" Lady Penelope was appalled.

"Yes, M'lady." Parker retired from the room.

_To be continued…_


	18. Day Three

**Seventeen – Day Three**

It was 5.00 pm and Virgil was standing in the opulent lounge of Lady Penelope's mansion, gazing at one of the portraits that adorned the walls. But it wasn't one of the Creighton-Ward ancestors he was admiring; he was looking at his brother John. "What if…?"

"No. You are not going to fly back to the island now. The winds are still too strong. It's not safe."

Virgil frowned. "You're not Scott, John. Don't try to second guess me."

"I'm not reading your mind, Virgil." John's frown matched his brother's, as the door to the lounge opened and someone entered. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out what you're planning."

"Rocket scientist?" Virgil looked round. "Well here's one now. What do you think, Brains? Should…"

"N-No, Virgil. I don't think you should fly h-home. Not if John says it isn't safe."

"Huh?" Virgil stared at him. "How'd you know…?"

"Th-This is an old house," Brains explained. "The doors don't shut p-properly. I heard wh-what you were talking about."

"I beg your pardon!" Lady Penelope sounded indignant as she entered the room, followed by Tin-Tin and Parker. "I take great care to maintain the family home. And I can assure you that all the doors close securely. Is that not right, Parker?"

"Yes, M'lady," Parker agreed. "We 'ad the man come h-and check 'em last month."

Lady Penelope fixed Brains with an expression that dared him to disagree with her.

"See, Virgil," John said. "Brains agrees with me. It's too dangerous for you to go."

"I wasn't planning on taking Brains and Tin-Tin. I was going to go by myself."

Now Tin-Tin was looking indignant. "Excuse me? May I remind you, Virgil Tracy, that my father is back on the island too! If you go I go…"

"No way, Tin-Tin. Not if there's any chance…"

"No one's going if there's any chance!" John snapped. "Not until it's safe."

"John!" Virgil protested.

"I'm not letting you risk your neck when I don't know what's happened to everyone else!" John informed him. "Do you think I enjoy staying up here alone on Thunderbird Five, not knowing what's happened to our family? At least when Sylvia passes by you'll be able to fly home. I've got to wait until I hear back from you. Even then I could be stuck up here if something's happened to Thunderbird Three. As much as I would love to walk out of an airlock and free-fall home, the laws of physics won't allow it and common sense tells me it's a stupid idea. If I can wait, then so can you."

"If I leave now you won't have to wait so long," Virgil persisted.

"I promised Dad that if you take so much as one step towards Thunderbird Two before it's safe, I'm to stop you, Virgil."

Virgil gave a sharp laugh. "How, John? As you said you're stuck on Thunderbird Five."

"I'll let Lady Penelope know what you've got planned and she'll deck you with a flying tackle."

"I do not 'tackle' anyone," Lady Penelope informed him. "I have more refined means of restraining miscreants."

"Okay then," John conceded. "Penny will tell Parker to tackle you."

Parker rolled his eyes skyward.

"And if I'm too quick for them?" Virgil asked.

"I'll lock Thunderbird Two down remotely."

The suggestion rocked Virgil slightly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I? What do you think I'm doing now?" John punched a code into a terminal. "There! One more button and you won't be able to get anywhere near Thunderbird Two."

"You're bluffing, John," Virgil challenged. "You've just dialled our Kansas number into the 'phone link."

John returned the volley. "It's the same number as the lockdown code."

"I don't believe you. Besides, if you enter that lockdown code you'd be cutting off your own nose," Virgil reminded him. "I know one half of the unlock code and the other half is in the safe at home. You lock down Two and you won't find out what's happened to the family until we've made the long, slow flight in a conventional plane."

"I've got the other half of the code up here. You won't be going anywhere until I give it to you."

The two brothers glared at each other in a stalemate as everyone else looked on. Then Virgil gave a sigh and sagged into one of the overstuffed chairs. "Okay, John. You win. I'll wait until Sylvia's moved away from the island."

John eyed him uncertainly. "Promise? You're not going to sneak out while no one's looking."

"Scout's honour." Virgil looked dejected.

Lady Penelope sat in the seat opposite Virgil. "You have made a promise, Virgil, and I expect you to keep it," she warned. "The sounds of the M25 masks the noise your Thunderbird makes during the day, but at night the whole countryside can hear it. It would be most tiresome if the county learnt who we were just because you chose to make a foolhardy dash for home."

She could see exhaustion and worry etched into Virgil's face. "You have my word, Penny. I won't be leaving until John gives me the all clear."

"Good," she said.

John took pity on his younger brother. "Look, Virgil, I'll make you a deal. Cyclone Sylvia's on the move. She's going to be losing steam pretty soon. Wait 24 hours and then, whatever the weather's like, I'll agree to let you fly home."

Virgil looked at him. "Do you mean that?" He looked at his watch. "24 hours is a long time."

"But I'll only let you go on one condition," John clarified. "How much sleep have you had since you arrived in England?"

"Not much," Virgil admitted.

"You mean you've had none. You look as shot as I feel. I'll let you go in 24 hours, as long as you've had a good sleep tonight. If there's any sort of foul weather about you'll want to be strong enough, mentally and physically, to deal with it."

"Fair enough," Virgil admitted and rubbed his eyes. "Hadn't you better hang up the 'phone, John?"

John gave a guilty smile and pushed a button. "How'd you know that was what I dialled?"

Virgil tapped the side of his head. "You're tired too, John, and you've forgotten I've got an ear for music. I know that combination of notes well, I rang it often enough to get you or Scott to pick me up from music practice. Also, I know you! There's no way you'd enter that code until you were sure it was absolutely necessary."

"Guilty," John managed a grin. "It was the only number I could think of at short notice."

Virgil looked at his watch again. "Well… If I'm flying out of here in 23 point nine six hours, I'd better try to get some sleep. If you'll all excuse me…" He levered himself out of the chair. "Good night, everyone," he said as he left the room.

Parker watched him go. "But h-it's only 'alf five. What about dinner, M'Lady. 'E's gonna miss it."

"What Virgil needs now is sleep," Lady Penelope reminded him. "He'll have plenty of time tomorrow to obtain the sustenance he'll need for the flight home." She turned back to John. "Do you think you have made the right decision, my dear boy? What if this cyclone hasn't passed by the time Thunderbird Two reaches Tracy Island?"

"I know Virgil, Penny. As long as he's not tired and is able to think clearly he won't take any unnecessary chances. If things are too rough he'll hover above the cyclone until he's able to land safely. I'm pretty sure that he found that flight out from home more frightening than he's let on."

Virgil stuck his head back in through the door. "Did not," he said and gave them a tired smile. "Brains is right, Penny. This door isn't shutting properly. Don't worry about breakfast for me, Parker. I'll get it myself." He disappeared again.

Lady Penelope gave a sigh. "Parker…"

"H-I'll see to it h'in the mornin', M'lady."

_To be continued…_


	19. Night Four

**Eighteen – Night Four**

In the time since his family had seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet, John Tracy had had no problems in getting to sleep. Staying asleep was a different matter. The nightmares that populated his dreams inevitably caused him to wake him up in a cold sweat. The upshot was that he was nearly as exhausted as Virgil, who'd been getting no sleep at all.

His uniform crumpled and untidy, his sash and belt hanging off the corner of the desk, John tossed in his chair and plucked at his blanket.

"Calling Thunderbird Five."

John gave a little moan and shifted so he was lying on his other side. His pillow slid to the floor of Thunderbird Five's control room.

"Calling Thunderbird Five!"

John pulled his blanket over his head and stretched, trying to get comfortable. His foot kicked his belt and the sash fell to the floor.

"Come in Thunderbird Five! Are you reading me?"

John sat up, partially awake. Deciding that the voice wasn't part of his dream he flicked the switch that completed the link with his caller. "Funderbird Thive. Go ahead."

"Is that how you normally answer a call, Son?"

"Dad!" John stared at the image on the screen. "Is that you? Are you okay? How's everyone? What happened? Why are you…?" John peered closer at the screen, "…in Thunderbird Three? What happened? Are you okay…?"

"Whoa," Jeff ordered. "We're all okay. How's Thunderbird Two?"

"She's fine. She's at Penny's."

"John," Scott clarified, "He means, how's Virgil, Tin-Tin, Brains and Joe?"

"Oh, them!" John's fatigue vanished and his mind cleared. "They're fine. Got through the storm, no problems. But what happened to you guys?"

"Lost the radio," Alan replied.

"So I gathered. But how?"

Ned Cook pushed his way through so that he could see John clearly on the screen. "John! Please! How is Joe, really?"

"He's going to be okay. He's still in Intensive Care, but they'll probably move him out in the next few days. The doctors said things would have been different if we'd got him to hospital any later."

Ned looked relieved.

"Are you sure you're all okay?" John repeated.

"We're a darn site better than you look, my boy," Grandma informed him. "That uniform of yours looks slept in."

"Ah… It has been, Grandma."

She gave a snort that showed that she didn't approve.

Trying to avoid her wrath, John moved the conversation. "Why are you all in Thunderbird Three?"

"Because we were fairly sure that we'd be able to contact you from here, and the flight deck is big enough for all of us," his father said.

"Even Mr Cook?" John was looking slightly astounded.

"Don't worry, your secrets are still safe," Ned growled. "They blindfolded me and led me here."

"We did think of pushing him off the gantry, but decided against it," Gordon teased.

Ned Cook smiled at the joke.

"Why'd you lose contact?" John asked. "We've been worried sick."

"We've lost part of the roof," Jeff informed him.

"Lost part of the roof…? How extensive is the damage?"

"We haven't checked yet, we were more concerned about finding if everyone had survived the storm."

"If you've lost the roof, you're going to need help replacing it." John looked at his youngest brother. "Slap that baby of yours into gear, Alan, and come and get me."

"We'll do that soon enough," Jeff agreed, "But, first, we'll have to do a survey and compile a list of supplies. Virgil can bring them back in Thunderbird Two."

John felt slightly disappointed. "Okay." Then he cheered up. "Gee, it's great to see you all."

There was a moments silence as he looked at them with a goofy smile.

"John," Scott said.

"Yes?"

"Don't you think Virgil would like to see us as well?"

"Oh… Yeah… Sorry…" Blushing to the roots of his blonde hair, John transferred the call.

* * *

Sheer exhaustion and the prospect of finally being able to do something meant that Virgil had fallen into a deep sleep. John had to activate his brother's alarm several times before the signal penetrated his almost catatonic slumber and Virgil awoke. He fumbled for his watch and looked at John with bleary eyes. "I was 'sleep," he moaned. "Whatcha want?"

"I've got someone who wants to say 'Hi', Virgil."

"Who?" Virgil rubbed his hand over his face.

"We can call you back later, if you'd prefer, Virg."

Virgil's eyes widened "Scott! Father! Grandma! Are…"

"We're all fine," Jeff interrupted the expected question.

"What happened?"

"We've lost part of the roof and the temporary antenna with it."

"Lost the roof? Are you sure you're all okay?"

Halfway around the world, in Thunderbird Three, his family glanced in Scott's direction as his brother answered. "We're fine. You don't need to worry." He grinned when he saw Virgil frown. "Honest, Virg. We're a million bucks now that we know that you all made it safely."

"I've got to tell the others!" Virgil exclaimed. "Hang on!" The picture on Thunderbird Three's console blurred as he leapt out of bed and ran down the hallway. "Brains!" he barged into the engineers room without knocking. "Wake up!"

"Wh-What?" Brains asked groggily.

"Here!" Virgil threw his watch at him. "Talk to them while I get Tin-Tin." He was out the door again before Brains had a chance to ask him to clarify his statement.

Brains sat up, hearing a yell of "Tin-Tin! Wake up!" from the hall, and the watch slid down off his bedclothes and onto the floor. Thunderbird Three's screen blurred again.

"At this rate I'm going to be suffering from a severe case of motion sickness before we get to talk to him," Gordon complained.

"You?" Scott looked at him. "You've never suffered a moment of motion sickness in your life."

Brains reached for where he thought he'd left his glasses. "What's he on about?" he muttered. "Where's that thing that fell?"

Gordon leant forward so he was closer to the microphone. "On the floor!" he yelled.

Brains didn't hear him but had succeeded in retrieving the watch. He picked it up, holding it upside down as he affixed his spectacles to his face. Then he turned the watch so it was the right way up and stared into its face. "Wh-What can I do for you, Mr Tracy?"

"You can show a bit more enthusiasm, Brains," Alan told him.

"Virgil's doing enough of that for both of them," Gordon told him.

Brains frowned, blinked, and yawned. It was only then that the realisation of whom he was looking at awakened as well. "M-M-M…?"

"We're all okay, Brains," Jeff anticipated the question.

"Wh-Wh-Wh…?"

"Part of the roof was blown away along with the antenna."

"Wh-Why…?"

"We thought the radio would still be working and there's room enough for all of us."

It was all Brains needed to know. "Good," he said. And a smile broke out across his face.

Virgil barged back into the room, pulling Tin-Tin by the arm. "Where's that watch, Brains?"

"Virgil!" Tin-Tin complained. "You could at least wait until I've got my dressing gown done up."

Gordon nudged Scott and pointed at Alan whose face had adopted a scowl.

Brains held out the watch. Virgil took it from him and gave it to Tin-Tin, staying close so that he could see its face over her shoulder.

Tin-Tin glared at him. "I know the time! I looked at the clock when you pulled me out of bed. It's 3.00am."

Gordon and Scott could barely contain their laughter as Alan's scowl deepened. Kyrano looked on serenely.

"I didn't pull you out of bed," Virgil protested. "I banged on your door."

"At three-o-clock," she said her dark expression getting even darker.

Jeff indicated that Kyrano should move closer to the microphone. "Selamat pagi _(1)_, Tin-Tin," the Malaysian said.

Tin-Tin heard the voice and finally looked at the watch. "Father!"

"Apa khabar _(2)_?"

"Selamat Sejahtera_ (3)_," she replied. "Khabar baik_ (4)_. And how are you? How are you all?"

"We are all well," Kyrano informed her.

Alan couldn't wait any longer. Partly because he was dying to talk to his girlfriend, and partly to circumnavigate the questions they'd already answered three times, he said, "The roof has gone, which is why the antenna wasn't working, and we're in Thunderbird Three because we thought the radio would still be operational and because we can all fit in here."

"And because Thunderbird One's flooded," Gordon added.

"We don't know that," Scott protested. "The water may not have penetrated the hull."

"I'll bet the jet units are ruined."

Scott responded with a sour, "Shut up, Gordon."

There was a knock on the door to Brains' bedroom and Lady Penelope stepped inside, shadowed by Parker. "What is all the noise? We could hear you from the other side of the house."

"I told you that would happen," John's voice came from the vicinity of Virgil's watch.

"Lady Penelope! Look!" Tin-Tin held out the timepiece, her smile almost splitting her face in two. "They've made contact, and they are all well."

"Made contact? Your family?" Lady Penelope took the watch. "Jeff! It's wonderful to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Penny. I hope those three haven't been any trouble."

"Not at all. It's been a pleasure."

"I'll bet," Gordon was in a playful mood. "Virgil. I hope you haven't been streaking through Penny's place."

Virgil reddened. "No, I haven't!"

"Then what have you got on?" Grandma's tone made Virgil think he was going to be in trouble when he got home. "I would expect you to wear more when you're a guest in Penelope's house."

Virgil looked down as if confirming that he was underdressed. "I've got my shorts on," he protested. "I'm sorry, Penny. I forgot to order pyjamas with the rest of my clothes. I was in a hurry to let everyone know that everyone was okay and I didn't think of putting anything on."

Lady Penelope had already decided that there were worse things to be woken by than half naked Tracys. "That's all right, dear boy. Don't worry about it."

"I'll go get something on," Virgil offered his father. "We can leave any time."

"Don't hurry back," Jeff suggested. "We'll reconnoitre the complex and see what repairs we have to make and what supplies we'll need. In the meantime you can get some more sleep, you look like you need it. We'll call you tomorrow when we're ready to place our orders. I'll send them through to you, John, and you can ring the suppliers."

"F-A-B," John replied.

"And in the meantime you can get out of that mess of a uniform."

"Yes, Sir."

"At least you could run around naked and you wouldn't offend anyone, John," Gordon quipped.

"Thanks, Gordon," John said without enthusiasm.

"Except maybe some passing aliens."

"Thanks, Gordon," John repeated.

"They'd take one look and flee in fright."

"Gordon…"

"And go home and tell their peoples about this strange beast that is so terrible that Earthlings keep it in a sealed container above the Earth's atmosphere."

"Shut up, Gordon."

* * *

The following night (Tracy Island time), John had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, and was showered, combed, and dressed in a clean, pressed uniform. He answered his father's call with a broad smile.

"You're looking a bit more like you," Scott informed him.

"I feel like it too. Where are you both?" John asked. "Thunderbird One?"

"The gantry's still working, so we thought it was easier to get to One than Three," Jeff informed him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby. How about you guys?"

"Sleep's not a problem as the sleeping quarters are okay, but the rest of the house is trashed," Jeff told him. "We need to rebuild the lounge, kitchen, dining room, laboratory…"

"Brains is going to be devastated when he sees the lab," Scott interjected.

"It's going to need a complete overhaul," Jeff continued on. "As does the workshop, and most of my study's in the Pacific Ocean. Thank heavens I have full backups of everything on Thunderbird Five."

"Yeah," Scott added. "Thunderbird One's launch bay is filled with mud and rubbish and her hangar's not much better. Palm tree number eight got jammed in Thunderbird Two's hangar door so it didn't shut properly and that's flooded."

"How's One?" John asked.

"Pretty good considering she's been underwater. We've been lucky that the water treatment plant and power generator have kept working throughout all this, I was able to spend much of the morning hosing the salt water out of her jet units, which'll hold her until we can strip them down. I don't think there'll be any long term damage. Alan and Gordon are crowing because Thunderbirds Three and Four came through unscathed."

"Naturally," John commented. "How's the observatory?"

"We haven't been to that side of the island," Jeff told him. "I'm sorry, John, but the main complex has taken priority."

"I understand." John tried not to sound disappointed as he changed the topic. "I've discovered the reason why the storm surge was so high." As his father and brother listened intently, he continued on. "It was a combination of factors. Not only the cyclonic storm surge, but there was also a king tide, and seismic activity near the Hawaiian Islands set off a small tsunami. Two of those events together would have flooded the runway and not much else. It was the three, almost simultaneous events, which caused the problems."

"So, for once in our lives Lady Luck wasn't smiling on us," Scott hypothesised.

"Nope." John paused. "So what do you need?"

"We're sending the list through now," Jeff said, and John heard a printer on board Thunderbird Five spark into life. "It's mainly building materials, but Grandma and Kyrano have attached the list of appliances they want for the kitchen."

Scott grinned. "There was a… shall we say 'animated discussion' about the type of cooker we should get. Kyrano wanted an atomic one, while Grandma had her heart set of something more 'old fashioned', with less rods. It was nearly carving knives at dawn."

John grinned at the image.

"We won't touch the lab until Brains gets home," Jeff continued on. "Then he'll be able to decide what he needs and if he wants to change the room's layout."

"Fair enough," John agreed.

"Since Tin-Tin's in London with Penny, I'll let them decide on the decorations for the lounge and other rooms."

"You're kidding!" John screwed up his face. "Penny will want everything pink!"

Jeff chuckled. "I think I can trust her not to go that far."

"When are you going to come and get me? I'm not doing much good up here."

"Once Thunderbird Two's back, we'll use her to reinstate the radio mast. Until then you're our only link with the outside world and I don't like being cut off, even if we can't actually rescue anyone."

"Has International Rescue been needed?" Scott asked.

John shook his head. "No. Before Sylvia got up to full strength, all the smaller nations had been evacuated to the larger ones, in accordance with the Pacific Disaster Treaty, and the rest of the world has enjoyed a quiet week."

"Glad to hear it," Jeff said.

"Uncle Stanton's been on the phone a few times, but I've played dumb. He can wait until we get the radio mast operational again and I've 'made contact'."

Scott chuckled. "Ned's been telling us a few stories about him. You think Uncle Stanton's a pain in the butt to us, try working for him!"

"Ned!" John stared at his older brother. "You called him Ned? A week ago you would have called him 'Cook'. And that would have been with gritted teeth and plans to eviscerate him."

"Yeah, well… After spending four days cooped up with him I've come to realise that he's not that bad," Scott conceded. "He kept us entertained telling us about the stories he covered."

"And you entertained him with International Rescue stories?"

Scott looked shocked. "No! Of course not… Well… Maybe the odd one. Ones that were already in the public domain… giving our viewpoint as it were…"

"Yeah… Right…" John deadpanned.

Jeff interrupted. "Can you put us through to Virgil? We've, ah… I want to let him know what's happening. You can make a start ringing the suppliers."

"F-A-B."

There was a delay as John located Virgil's position in the Creighton-Ward manor.

"How are you going to tell him?" Scott asked his father.

"I was hoping you were going to tell him. That's why I invited you to help me with this call," Jeff replied.

"Thanks." Scott didn't sound happy with his new responsibility.

Virgil was in Lady Penelope's study, sketching the morning sky from her window, when he received the call. He settled back in a leather chair and looked at his father and brother's image in a small picture frame. "Hi."

"Glad to see you're fully clothed this time," Scott teased.

Virgil ignored his older brother. "Have you worked out what I'll be bringing home yet?"

"Yes," his father replied. "John's got a list and he'll ring around and get everything delivered to Penny's. We're sending you a copy now."

Virgil watched as Lady Penelope's printer started shooting out numerous sheets of paper. "Whoa! Don't forget Thunderbird Two hasn't got her pod!"

"Son, that 'plane of yours could carry a complete house with or without the pod," Jeff reminded him.

"Yeah," Scott added. "Especially since her interior is lying on the floor of the hangar back here. Quite a few things have been damaged." He hesitated. "Ah… Virg…" He glanced at his father.

But Virgil, conceding the validity of their statements, had a suggestion. "Why don't I help John with the 'phone calls? I'm not doing much back here."

"Because I'm getting Tin-Tin and Penny to plan the new décor and I thought you would want to help them decide the colour schemes," Jeff told him.

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Give a man's point of view. You know what we like. Something simple."

Virgil had sat up straight in the chair. "Shopping! You want me to go shopping?"

"Parker can stay home and accept delivery of the goods while you drive the ladies around," Jeff suggested.

"No way!" Virgil sounded even more displeased at the suggestion. "Parker's the chauffeur. I don't mind staying here and signing delivery dockets."

Scott tried to placate his brother. "We thought you might enjoy it."

Virgil was incredulous. "You thought I might enjoy shopping with a couple of women?"

Rather than become angry at his son's obstinacy, Jeff's voice softened. "We thought… that… you might like the opportunity to try out a few pianos… to replace the old one."

"New p…" Virgil went silent.

"Better you try them out personally rather than leave it to us," Scott told him. "You can get what you like… A quality instrument… Not something that some salesman wants to sell us."

Virgil found his voice. "Isn't it salvageable?"

Scott shrugged. "Gordon did suggest drilling holes in the bottom and letting the water drain out…"

"The man's a Philistine," Virgil growled.

"A few holes won't restore it," Jeff said. "Better buy a new one, Son. Choose something you like."

"I don't have to take Penny, do I? She'll insist that I buy a pink one."

Scott laughed. "John had the same concerns about the rest of the house. That's why you've got to go with them."

Virgil sat back and tried to be nonchalant. "Okay, I'll see if I can find anything halfway decent."

"Don't take too long about it," Jeff suggested. "John's itching to help with the repairs and I don't want to leave Thunderbird Five unattended until we've got the radio mast operational again. And to do that we need Thunderbird Two."

"Okay. Do you want me to get anything else?"

"If we do we'll let you know, but I think that's a pretty comprehensive list."

"I'll say," Virgil was shuffling through the papers. "I see swimming pool tiles are on here. Do you think Gordon would complain if we let Penny choose them?"

"We didn't let him touch your piano, don't spoil his pool," his father warned.

Virgil chuckled. "Okay. Any other instructions?"

"Negative. Call us tonight and let us know when you think you'll be leaving."

"F-A-B." Virgil signed off.

Jeff rotated his shoulders to relieve the tension in them and gave Scott a wry grin. "He took that better than I expected."

"Only after he reminded himself that it was only the piano and not one of us," Scott informed him. "I'll guarantee that Virgil's out in Penny's car at this very moment, warming the motor and leaning on the horn to get the ladies to hurry up."

Jeff smiled at the mental image. "I don't mind if he does. I'm looking forward to having the family, including John, all together again..."

_To be continued…_

_(1)_ Selamat pagi - Good morning

_(2)_ Apa khabar?" - How are you?

_(3)_ Selamat Sejahtera - Hello

_(4) _Khabar baik - Fine, good


	20. Tour Over

**Nineteen – Tour Over.**

Ned Cook looked into the games room. In there he found Jeff Tracy hanging photographs on the wall. "What are you doing, Jeff?"

"Hi, Ned. I'm replacing the photos of Gordon," was the reply.

"The ones you took down because I was trying to stick my big nose in?"

"Yes." Jeff reached into a box and took out a photo. He looked at it briefly before hanging it in position. "You've no idea what pleasure this little job is giving me."

Ned looked at the photo. It was of Gordon shortly after he'd won his Olympic gold medal. One hand held the prize triumphantly. The other was around the shoulders of an obviously proud father. "I'm sorry we forced you to lie about him, Jeff."

"So am I," Jeff admitted. "But you can understand why I had to take that step."

"Yes, I can."

"I hated having to lie about the way I feel about him, but I could never hate Gordon."

"I…" Ned began.

Someone slammed a door in the hall. A sloshing sound preceded the appearance of a figure, drenched from head to toe in dark, foul smelling mud. The figure ignored the two men in the games room, instead continuing to slosh in the direction of the sleeping quarters, grumbling under its breath.

"Alan!" Jeff sounded stern. "Where are you going like that?"

Alan stopped and reversed his passage until he was at the door of the room. His face was like thunder. "I'm going to get washed and changed!" A droplet of mud slid off his cheek and onto the floor.

"This is the only part of the house untouched by the storm. You don't have to make it unliveable too," his father reprimanded him.

"I didn't think it would matter since we're going to replace the carpet," Alan stated. "Anyway, I'm not the one to blame! He tipped a bucket of mud all over me! Look! It's going to take me ages to get clean." He spread his arms wide to draw attention to his plight, and sent more mud spilling onto the carpet and the walls. Then, muttering something about brothers, resumed his unhappy course towards his bedroom.

Ned looked at Jeff. "Gordon?"

"Gordon," Jeff confirmed. "I could never hate him, but there have been times…" He shook his head in exasperation, letting the sentence remain unfinished as he hung the final photograph. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. "That's better."

His mother came to the door. "Jeff, I've just been talking to John. Virgil's about an hour away."

"Thanks, Mother."

She looked at the floor and the walls, noticing the mud splatters. "Who did that?"

"Your youngest grandson."

"Alan! And you let him?"

"As he pointed out, we are replacing the carpet…"

"But that won't be for ages!" She clucked her tongue in disapproval. "What were you thinking of, Jeff Tracy?"

"I was thinking how pleased I'll be to have the whole family together again. It's only mud, Mother."

"It smells," she protested. "And this is our eating area until we get the dining room sorted."

"The weather's lovely now," Jeff reminded her. "The wind's gone and the sun's shining. We can eat all our meals outside."

"It's even more muddy and smelly out there…" she complained as a redheaded blur raced down the hall behind her. "Gordon Tracy! Don't run in the house!"

"Sorry, Grandma." He skidded to a stop. "But I've just checked the next bay 'round. The water's cleared so I'm going to go for a swim while I've got the chance. Once Thunderbird Two's back we're going to be flat out clearing up the place. See ya." He'd gone before anyone had a chance to respond to his statement.

Grandma clucked her tongue again. "Really! Those boys!"

"Are getting used to being able to relax, stretch their legs, and be themselves again," Jeff reminded her. "Leave him, Mother. He's not doing any harm. In fact…" he put the empty box beside his desk. "I might go and stretch my legs myself. Would you like to come for a walk, Ned?"

Ned Cook smiled. "I'd love too, Jeff."

Treading cautiously as they made their way down paths made slippery with silt, Jeff led Ned down to where the beach in front of the villa had been. All the sand had been washed away leaving a bay of largish pebbles and boulders. Many of the palm trees had been torn from the ground and were lying dead on the beach. Everywhere there was destruction.

Ned turned so he could see the Tracy Villa. From this angle it appeared that half the building was gone. Something bright on the shore caught his eye and he picked it up. It was the ornament that had sat on Jeff's desk in the lounge. Turning it over he saw that the underside had concealed a microphone. "Amazing," he muttered to himself.

"Pardon?" Jeff replied.

"Oh, nothing," Ned handed him the ornament. "I just can't believe how unlucky you've been."

"Unlucky?"

"Yes." Ned swung his arm in an arc, encompassing the island. "Your home's been destroyed!"

Jeff looked about him as if he were seeing it for the first time. "Not destroyed, but certainly damaged. International Rescue's going to be out of action for a time, which is a concern, but we might not be needed anywhere. What really matters to me, on a personal level, is that no one in my family has been seriously hurt, that Joe is going to be okay, and that in a few hours time I'll have all five of my boys with me again. This…" his arm followed the same trajectory that Ned's had taken, "can all be replaced with time and money. It's the lives of those closest to me that are irreplaceable… When you look at things in the wider scale," he bent down, and using a stick, turned over the body of a dead bird, it's once brilliant plumage now dulled with mud, "I've been incredibly lucky."

Ned stared at him. "You're amazing."

Jeff gave a wry grin, threw the stick away, and began walking along the remains of the beach. "No, I'm not. I don't like the idea of losing all these things. I don't like the idea of millions having to be spent out to restore my home to the way it was. I don't like the fact that some priceless artefacts that cost me a lot of money have been destroyed. But when you look at my misfortune and compare it with the big picture, that's nothing. How many of those birds have died? Just that one? Two? Three? The entire species? That would be a catastrophe. How many other species of birds, plants, animals, fish or insects have been wiped out, or will be because their environment has been destroyed? How about people on other islands? They survived because they were evacuated, but what will they return to? Will they have homes, gardens; a way to sustain their way of life? Will they have the wherewithal to start again? What stresses will they endure before life returns to normal for them, if it ever does? Compared to them I have lost nothing." He chuckled. "Here endeth the lesson."

"Is that why you started International Rescue? To help those with less than you?" Ned thrust his hands into his pocket. His right one grasped the voice recorder.

"Sort of," Jeff admitted. "I first got the idea when my wife, Lucille, was tragically killed."

Ned nodded. That part of Jeff Tracy's life was common knowledge.

"I thought that if only there'd been a rescue organisation with the right tools, she could have been saved. I guess that planted the seed, as it were. From then on every time people were trapped in a mine, every mudslide, every volcanic eruption, every hurricane, every disaster, watered that seed. And as I accumulated more and more money I began to realise that just maybe I could be the one to grow that rescue organisation. It also helped that I had a readymade team with the skills and attitude to bring it to life."

"What would you have done if your sons had decided not to go along with your plan?" Ned asked.

"I don't know," Jeff admitted. "I'm fortunate that I didn't have to consider that option. They hesitated at first, a couple more than the others." He chuckled. "I think they thought their old man had lost his marbles. But now they believe in International Rescue as much as I do… More so, since they are the ones laying their lives on the line." They began to climb up a volcanic outcrop. "I worry about them… A few times I've been frightened for them… But I'm proud of them all."

"You don't have to convince me," said Ned. "I know. And I think they're proud of their father as well."

They climbed the rest of the outcrop in silence.

Jeff reached the top and stopped, looking down into the next bay. Ned scrambled after him and stood there panting. "That's… quite a… climb."

Jeff grinned. "You're out of shape."

Ned straightened. "I've been unwell," he protested. "I had a building land on me, I was nearly drowned and I've been on light duties ever since, remember?"

Jeff chuckled. "Well, if you want to see a perfect example of physical fitness, there you are." He pointed into the bay before sitting down on one of larger the rocks.

Ned looked down.

Gordon was on what remained of the beach. He'd obviously decided that after being trapped inside for a week, he'd forgo wearing a wetsuit, preferring to enjoy the feeling of the warm sun on his back and the gentle caress of the water on his skin. Currently he was pacing backwards and forwards, holding a strange looking object out to sea.

"What's he…" Ned looked around, saw that Jeff was now seated, and took a seat beside him. "What's he doing?"

"He's testing the depth of the water and checking there aren't any hidden obstacles. I'm betting that he's hoping to dive straight in."

Ned watched as Gordon laid down the device, and stretched in preparation for the dive. He completed his last stretch and glanced in the direction of the two men. He gave them a wave. "Care to join me?" he shouted.

"No thanks, Gordon," Jeff shouted back. "We'll watch if you don't mind."

Gordon gave an ironic bow and then made his way onto a scoria reef. He stood poised for a moment, a Greek statue against the blue of the ocean. Then he dove. Barely a ripple marked where he'd entered the water and he didn't surface again until he was nearly halfway across the bay.

Jeff heard a stumbling sound and turned to look behind him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the same reason that you are. To watch Gordon."

"Scott!" Jeff sounded exasperated. "You're supposed to be resting that leg… And where's your crutch?"

"I've been resting it for the last five days. I needed the exercise."

"Your grandmother's not going to be pleased with you."

"I'll tell her I needed the sun, which is true." Scott found a conveniently sized rock and, grimacing, sat down. "Don't worry, I'm all right."

"You should be inside, resting," Jeff persisted. "You did too much yesterday when you cleaned down Thunderbird One."

"I've been trapped underground for the last week and I'm sick of being stuck inside. I need the fresh air. And," Scott continued as he watched his brother, "being stuck inside with Gordon has been like stuck with a fish out of water. I've come here to see him in his natural environment."

Gordon had completed one length of the bay and was backstroking the return journey. Upon finishing that lap he turned and started back using breaststroke.

"Is this where you all are?" Alan asked as he clambered to the top of the outcrop. "Here," he held out a crutch and gave it to Scott. "Grandma's spitting tacks because you're not resting. And she says if you don't use this she's going to wrap it around your ear."

"She worries too much," Scott said as he reluctantly accepted the aid.

"That what I told her. She told me it's her job to worry, because we don't worry enough." Alan sat next to his father.

"Did you get all the mud off?" Ned asked.

"Nope," Alan ran his finger around the rim of his ear and then wiped it on his shirt. "But at least I got enough off so I shouldn't smell..." He sniffed at his arm and screwed up his face. "Well I thought I had. I'll have another shower later."

"Tin-Tin won't give you a hug if you stink," Scott teased. "Of course, if you ask her nicely, she might let you disguise the smell with some of her perfume."

Alan replied in kind. "Of course, I could always tell Grandma that you're refusing to use your crutch. She'll start nagging you the way she's been nagging Virgil these last few weeks."

"Start? She's already started," Scott protested. "She started the instant I injured it."

Gordon was on the homeward stretch, his butterfly stroke carving efficiently through the water.

"That's how he won the medal, isn't it?" Ned asked.

"Yep. And he's still fast enough to win gold at this year's Olympics," Alan boasted.

"Would he want to?" Ned asked.

"I asked him that," Scott said. "He said he's moved onto bigger and better things."

"That's true," Ned agreed. "And there's a lot of people in this world who are glad that he has. Me included…"

There was a shout from down by the water. "Hey! Look what I've found!" Gordon dove beneath the waves.

"What's he found?" Scott asked.

"A friend for Tracey?" Alan suggested.

"Tracey?" Jeff queried, but Gordon had surfaced again carrying something. He waded onto the shore examining the object.

"It's Joe's camera!" Ned was on his feet.

Gordon had settled the camera onto the beach and he pushed the button that popped open the film compartment. Silt and water poured out, settling in a muddy puddle at the base of the rocky outcrop. He looked up at his family. "Look's like Sylvia's done a better job on it than Scott managed to."

"I've been meaning to ask, how'd you do that?" Ned asked Scott, who was shuffling closer so he could see what was happening. "How did you manage to wipe the film from Thunderbird One?"

Scott smiled. "Trade secret," he replied as he leant on his crutch.

"I figured it might be." Ned thrust his hands into his pockets and felt the two voice recorders there. "You know," he said as he pulled them out. "It's a shame that the cyclone destroyed all our recording equipment." He weighed the items briefly in his hands. "Now we've got nothing to show for our time on Tracy Island." He threw the recorders down towards the beach. They ricocheted off sharp edged rocks before settling in the mud beside the camera.

Everyone stared as Gordon picked the recorders up. "These have been used!"

"Ned?" Jeff was looking at the reporter.

"There's nothing on there from after we found out you're International Rescue," Ned reassured him. "If they still work you can check."

"Nothing?" Scott was frowning. "But are there others…?"

Ned held his hands out as if he were showing he was hiding nothing. "There are no copies of recordings or other recorders, and if you don't believe me you're welcome to search our rooms."

"So why tell us this now?" Jeff asked.

"Because you're trusting me and I want to prove to you that I'm worthy of that trust," Ned admitted.

Scott's frown deepened. "Now I know why Joe didn't trust you."

"I'm disappointed in Joe. I thought he knew me well enough to know that I would never back down from a 'debt of honour', as he called it."

"You had me fooled," Scott growled.

"I guess it didn't sound that way, but that's me." Ned shrugged. "I enjoy winding people up and watching their reactions. I guess I like to keep people guessing. But I never had any attention of 'blowing the whistle'." He thrust his hands into his now empty pockets. "You know how you hear of people making deals with the Devil and pacts with God when they think their lives are in mortal danger… Of course you do," he admonished himself when he remembered who he was talking to. "Well… When I was buried under New York City, waiting to either drown or be rescued, I made a pledge to International Rescue. I promised that if you people did, by some miracle, manage to save Joe and me, then I'd never do anything that might jeopardise your organisation." He looked Jeff in the eye. "And the way that, despite the threat that we posed to your organisation, you all fought to save Joe's life, made me even more determined to keep that pledge. I might be many things, but I hope I am an honourable and honest man and I aim to keep that promise."

"Do you call installing a broken component into a hover-plane so you can buy time with a story honest?" Alan asked.

"That was Joe's idea. Besides I thought I was dealing with reclusive billionaire and his playboy sons."

Gordon snorted a laugh. "Playboy! It never fails to crack me up when I hear people refer to us as that. We never get the time to play…"

A low rumble, like thunder, was heard in the distance. It grew louder.

"Talking of no time to play," Jeff was looking skywards. "Here's Virgil with the supplies."

Ned looked up and was awestruck by the Thunderbird. "Wow."

Thunderbird Two flew low. She hovered over the group of men and a series of strobe lights played out along her undercarriage.

Jeff gave a wave to the 'plane's unseen occupants. "Come on. Let's go and say 'welcome home'."

Thunderbird Two moved off slowly, embarking on a circuit of the island.

"I've seen it before," Ned said, as he watched the great aircraft move away. "But last time I was viewing it as a reporter missing a great story. This time… This time I'm looking at it as… as…" Words failed him. "That's one humungous 'plane!"

"You okay, Hoppy?" Gordon asked, as he moved closer to help Scott.

"I'm okay," Scott held him at arms length. "I don't need to get wet. You worry about the camera, I'll worry about me."

"It's only good, honest, seawater," Gordon told him. "It's good for your skin."

"My skin's good enough, thank you. And my clothes are dry and I plan to keep it that way."

Ned looked up at what remained of the Tracy family villa. "There'll be a lot of work involved in fixing the place," he remarked to Alan. "You're lucky your father's a billionaire, you won't have any problems."

"Where'd we find a tradesmen who'd travel this far?" Alan asked. "And if we did, we'd have to worry about security. We're the ones who will be doing all the work."

Ned stared at him. "You?"

"Yep. We built the place and we'll re-build it. It'll be easier once…" he cast an impish grin Ned's way, "all the 'playboys' are here."

"I wish people could see what you're really like. Before I came here, I was genuinely expecting you all to be selfish brats."

"I keep meaning to ask you, Gordon," Scott said as he limped across the rocks. "How's Tracey? Has she had her babies yet?"

"Yeah," Alan moved closer so he could join in the conversation. "In all the excitement I forgot about that."

"Who's Tracey?" Jeff asked.

"Gordon's goldfish," Alan replied.

"Tracey's not a goldfish," Gordon reminded him. "She's a Plectroglyphididodon Tracii…"

"And she's grey," Scott interjected. "So, when is the proud 'Gord-father' going to show off his new offspring?"

Alan snorted a laugh.

"When I've got everything sorted," Gordon said.

"Sorted? Don't tell me you left her in the – ow – bunkers?" Scott flinched as twisted his sore leg.

"No, of course I didn't. You know that. Or you would have if you hadn't been keeping us awake all night with your moaning and groaning with that leg of yours."

"Moaning and groaning?" Scott scowled. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Alan backed Gordon up. "It's a wonder we managed to get any sleep at all."

Scott huffed. "Forget all that. So where's Tracey now?"

"Um. She's in her tank with the others in my room."

"No she's not," Alan told them. "I checked your room when I was looking for you guys and she's still in her plastic bag. That surprised me," he added. "I thought you would have got to back into her tank straight away, Gordon."

"Actually, Alan, she is… ah… in her tank."

"Huh?" Alan stopped walking and stared at his brother. "Then who, I mean what, was that in the bag?"

"Gil."

"Gil? You mean short for Gillian?"

"No, I mean Gil short for Gilbert."

"But," Scott was trying to make sense of it all, "Gilbert's a boy's name."

"I know," Gordon admitted. "I grabbed the wrong fish."

This time both Scott and Alan stopped to stare at him. "The wrong fish!"

"Yeah," Gordon twisted his hand so the camera spun about, splashing water everywhere. "I was in such a hurry that I grabbed Gil instead of Tracey. And then after Ned had finished poking about in my room I was that furious that I didn't double check."

"Do you mean to tell me?" Scott exclaimed. "That we risked exposure… We risked ruining everything we've worked for… And you got the wrong fish!"

Alan burst out laughing. "You're kidding me?"

"It's not funny, Gordon," Scott snapped.

"No it's not. And I think we should discuss the whole situation later."

Gordon jumped; he'd forgotten that his father was listening… and that he hadn't known about their escapade.

"Getting back to the original question," Scott said. "Are Tracey and her babies okay?"

"Yes. I walked into my room after Sylvia had gone and the tank was swarming with hatchlings. I'll have to do more research, but keeping Gil away from Tracey during the birth may have helped with her young's survival."

They had made their way so they were close to the runway and watched as Thunderbird Two came to rest on an area that had been cleared the day before. Ned hung back so he wouldn't interfere in the family reunion.

The greetings were warm. Jeff greeted Brains as he would have his own son. Alan and Tin-Tin's joyful embrace was a fraction longer than that between the young Eurasian lady and the other Tracy boys.

Virgil was the last to emerge from Thunderbird Two. Scott beamed at him. "Here he is! The cyclone conqueror."

Virgil saw his brother limp towards him. "What happened to you?"

"This?" Scott indicated his leg. "Nothing. I bruised it."

"A bruise?" Virgil folded his arms. "Since when do you need crutches just for 'a bruise'? What happened?"

"Sylvia thought it was her birthday and Scott was a candle to be blown out," Gordon informed him.

"Blown out?" Tin-Tin exclaimed. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"It's nothing," Scott protested. "I'm all right."

"Wh-What happened, Scott?" Brains asked.

Scott, reluctantly, supplied the explanation. "When we lost you guys and John, Alan and I decided that we'd try to make contact from Thunderbird Three. We figured that we'd be able to be a link between the storm shelter, using our telecoms, and Thunderbird Five. We were planning to stay in Thunderbird Three until Sylvia had passed…"

"You and Alan? Stuck together in Thunderbird Three?" Virgil shook his head. "That's asking for even more trouble than you and Gordon."

"I'll have you know that we got on well, didn't we, Scott?" Gordon gave his eldest brother a squeeze, nearly causing him to lose his balance.

"Once you'd finished trying to drive me crazy," Scott growled.

"Never mind that," Tin-Tin protested. "How'd you hurt your leg?"

"We hadn't realised that half the house had been blown away when we attempted to leave the shelter," Scott explained. "It was like trying to walk on one of Thunderbird One's wings while she was in flight! I stepped out the door and whump! Sylvia knocked my legs out from under me. If Alan hadn't grabbed my hand, I hate to think where I would have ended up."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "So I've got hold of one of his arms, Gordon's got the other…"

"…Dad's got me by the legs," Gordon continued on. "Kyrano's got hold of Alan's… Ned's got hold of the both of them…"

"…Grandma's having a blue fit," Alan added. "And the wind was that loud, I honestly thought that you guys had come back to see what had happened and Thunderbird Two had overshot the runway and was heading straight for us."

"I didn't even know we'd lost contact until we were above the cyclone," Virgil admitted. "I've gotta admit that I was imagining all sorts of scenarios." He turned back to Scott. "So is that when you hurt yourself?"

"Yeah. I pulled something, but I'm okay!"

"I know you'll want to check out the lab, Brains," Jeff said. "But that," he pointed at Scott, "is your first priority."

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"I'm okay!" Scott protested again.

Ned, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, sat on a rock and watched the reunion, glad that he'd made the decision that he had. It was clear that although they weren't all joined by blood, they were a family. Scott was ruffling Brains' hair in the same way that he'd ruffled Virgil's when he'd greeted him. And Gordon had his arm around Tin-Tin in a manner that suggested brotherly affection, rather than a more intimate attraction, though, to Ned's amusement, Alan was still casting nervous glances in his brother's direction.

"So, Virg," Scott asked. "Did you manage to find a piano?"

Virgil opened his mouth to speak but was beaten to the punch by Tin-Tin. "Found one! It's a wonder he didn't bring it home with us the way he's been drooling over it."

Virgil tried to sound nonchalant. "There's nowhere to put it in the house at the moment, and we can't store it in one of the hangars. It's a delicate instrument."

"You mean you didn't bring it home because it wouldn't fit on the flight deck," Tin-Tin told him. "You would have quite happily relegated us to the sickbay."

"You had to travel in the sickbay anyway because we'd taken the seats out of the cabin," Virgil reminded her.

"But you did consider it?" Gordon grinned.

"H-He must have done." Brains was enjoying the exchange. "I-I don't know how many time h-he asked me to help him measure th-the crate…"

"We have to make sure it'll fit in the hold without being damaged when we bring it home," Virgil interrupted. "I wanted to ensure the measurements were exact…"

"Th-Then why did you ask me to help you measure the cabin d-doors?"

"Ah…" Virgil reddened at his family's laughter and changed the subject. "Who painted 'roll me over' on the underside of the pod…?" He turned to one of his brothers. "Gordon?"

Everyone turned to look at the pod that had been jettisoned from Thunderbird Two five days ago. It was lying upside down. Its sides scarred from where Cyclone Sylvia had blown it off the runway and rolled it over the adjacent rocks. From this angle the lettering was obscured.

"Just giving you a helpful hint," Gordon admitted.

"Well I hope you're going to clean it off before we store it away again," Virgil demanded.

Gordon shrugged. "Why bother. No one's going to see it when it's on the ground."

"But they'll see it when we're coming in to land," Virgil reminded him. "How would you like to be clinging to life and see the words 'roll me over' heading towards you? Not very reassuring!"

"Gordon," Jeff warned.

"Okay, okay. I'll clean it off. It's only water-based paint. Next cyclone it'll be washed clean."

"How'd you do it, anyway?" Alan asked. "The pod's impossible to climb onto without assistance… And I'm asking this so that no one thinks that I was involved."

"Used a jet pack," Gordon admitted.

"Gordon!" his father sounded angry. "You know the rules about using our equipment for anything other than International Rescue."

"Yes, Sir."

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I was using the jet pack, so I could get the height I needed to scan the runway to check it was intact."

Jeff nodded. This was probably true. "And the paint?"

"Ah…" Gordon prevaricated. "Would you believe the tin caught on my foot when I took off and I didn't want to drop it all over the place but it was making my flight unstable so I thought I'd lighten the load?"

"By painting 'roll me over' on the pod."

"Ah… yeah."

Jeff, not for the first time that day, shook his head in exasperation.

"If you want to check out the extent of the damage to the island," Virgil reached into his pocket and pulled out an electronic card which he gave to his father. "I got some video and scans of the complex when we did the round trip. It's all on there."

"Thank you, Son."

"I sent it through to Thunderbird Five, too. John's up there doing a happy dance because his observatory looks intact. The west side of the island's almost been stripped of vegetation though."

"Say, Virg?" Alan remembered something. "Do you remember? When you were flying out and you went into that dive…"

"I'm not going to forget that in a hurry."

"Did you do a barrel roll?"

"Yes. The wind just caught Two and flipped her over. I'm thinking 'this is it! I'm going to lose a wing and then it'll be curtains.' Don't ask me how I managed to right her again." Virgil shook his head at the memory. "If I ever offer to make a trip like that again... Set Grandma on to me, would you?"

There was a 'humph' from behind the group. "Do you think that would make any difference? You're as stubborn as the rest of them."

Virgil turned; a big grin on his face. "Hi, Grandma."

"Father!" Tin-Tin ran forward into Kyrano's arms.

"My daughter. I am pleased to see you."

"And I you." Together they began to converse excitedly in Malay.

"I've missed you," Virgil gave his grandmother a big hug. "Penny's cook's not a patch on you."

"Huh! Cupboard love." Grandma hit him on the chest affectionately. "Food! That's all you boys think about." She held out an arm in greeting, and drew Brains in close to kiss him on the cheek. "How are you, dear?"

"F-Fine, thank you, Mrs Tracy."

Ned decided that it was time for him to offer his own thanks. He stepped forward. "Tin-Tin, Brains, Virgil…"

Virgil hadn't seen the reporter. He looked at Ned in alarm and then glanced at Thunderbird Two, as Scott laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Brains froze and Tin-Tin grasped her father's hand.

Ned saw their reactions. "…I know what you're thinking and I don't blame you. You think I know too much, and probably I do, but you can be reassured that I won't speak, I won't write, I won't use any form of communication to talk about what I've learnt on this island to another soul… except perhaps Joe. He's going to want to know what happened."

Virgil was wary. "But can we trust you?"

"I think we can, Virgil," Jeff replied. His son looked at him, but refrained from further comment.

Ned continued his speech. "I know I should say thank you to the three of you… but somehow the words don't seem to be enough. If you hadn't been willing to risk your lives, Joe wouldn't have survived. He and I both owe you a huge debt. I hope that I can repay that debt, at least in part, by keeping your secret."

There was an awkward silence as everyone considered what he'd said.

Jeff was the one to break it. "Come on; let's go back to the house. Scott should be resting that leg."

Scott groaned. "I'm – okay!" but he adjusted his grip on Virgil's shoulder so he was using his brother for support as they traversed the incline to the family home.

Stepping over debris, they clambered, single file up the steps that had led to the Tracys' home.

Tin-Tin gasped when she saw the pool. "It's full of mud and debris and…" she moved closer. "What's that sticking out?"

"That," Alan informed her, "is the bottom of the pool. All that mud and debris has filled Thunderbird One's launch bay."

She stared at him wide eyed. "Who's going to clean it out?"

Alan winked. "Gordon, of course."

The rest of the family had negotiated the steps to the villa. Virgil stood for a moment on what had formerly been the patio and surveyed what had formerly been the lounge. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "That's not fair! You said you wouldn't start the party without me!"

His family laughed. "Yeah," Gordon said. "It was a blast. Scott was legless."

"St-Still is." Brains beckoned to the eldest Tracy son. "Come on. I'll examine you n-now, if you don't mind."

Scott sighed. "Okay, Brains. There're some people here who just won't be happy until they hear a professional opinion." He followed International Rescue's engineer, scientist and medical expert through the debris of the family home.

"Where's the piano?" Virgil asked.

"We don't know," Gordon admitted. "Somewhere in the Pacific we think."

Virgil looked at his father. "You told me he wanted to drill holes in it!"

"That was before we realised that we couldn't find it," Gordon said. "We thought it was hidden under all the rubbish."

"Never mind that," Jeff turned to his International Rescue uniform clad son. "I know you've had a long flight, but I want to restore communications as soon as possible. Do you think you could take Gordon, Alan and Thunderbird Two and reinstate the radio mast? Once that's done someone can go and get John."

"Sure," Virgil replied.

"You might want to check it out first," Alan warned. "I was up there yesterday and it's not going to be a simple matter of just lifting it. We'll need to do some repairs first."

"Okay," Virgil removed his sash. "I'll get my welding gear. Will the hoverbikes work over the terrain?"

"Should do."

"In that case I'll meet you both back here in ten."

* * *

The following day found John holding court with three of his brothers in his bedroom on Tracy Island. Scott had commandeered the most comfortable chair and had his injured leg raised up on a footstool. Alan, dressed in clean overalls, sat on the bed amongst the suitcases that John had brought back from Thunderbird Five. 

Gordon, also wearing overalls, looked about for a seat, nudged Scott's leg over and perched on the edge of the stool. "Okay, John. What's this all about?"

John began in a formal manner. "Gentlemen, I have evidence of what we have long suspected. Our brother is in love with Thunderbird Two."

Alan leant forward. "Evidence? What do you mean evidence?"

John produced an electronic card with a flourish. "I mean, that on this little card I have proof positive."

"Proof?" Gordon asked. "What kind of proof?"

"I have a recording of Virgil declaring his love."

"You're kidding!" Alan shifted on the bed in anticipation.

"No. Do you want to hear it?"

"Of course we want to hear it," Gordon told him.

"Are you sure?"

"For Pete's sake, John," Scott said. "I've got to fly Ned back to the States shortly and I'd like to hear this 'proof positive' before I leave… or before Christmas, whichever comes first."

"Okay," John smirked. He slipped the card into a player. "Hold onto your hats." He pushed a button.

A voice came spilling out of the speakers. _"Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"_

John switched the recording off as his brothers looked at each other.

"It kind of sounded like Virgil," Scott admitted.

"He's not usually that, ah, enthusiastic," Gordon noted.

"Are you sure he meant Thunderbird Two?" Alan asked.

"He said 'this 'plane'," John quoted. "How many 'planes do you think he'd fall for?"

There was no answer to that one.

"I'm not convinced," Scott said. "Play it again, John."

Once again they heard the familiar voice. _"Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"_

Gordon was nodding. "It's him all right, but I don't believe it. How'd you manage to score that?"

"It was a case of being in the right place at the right time," John gloated.

"And where's the right place and what was the right time?" Scott asked.

John tapped the side of his nose, suggesting that the answer to that particular question was a secret.

"John, have you seen…" Virgil stuck his head into his brother's room. "…So this is where you all are… What?" he asked when he saw their expressions. "Why are you, looking at me like that?"

"Congratulations, Virgil," Gordon said. "We hope the pair of you will be very happy together."

"Huh?" Virgil frowned.

"We think it's wonderful." Alan managed to keep a straight face.

"I knew it was only a matter of time," John added.

Virgil looked at Scott. "Would you mind telling me what these idiots are on about?"

"I think that you'd better be careful what you say when you're near a radio microphone, Virg," Scott told him.

"What I say…?" Virgil stared at his brothers. He scratched his head. "I think you've all been cooped up for too long."

"Play it again, John," Gordon requested. "Listen, Virgil."

"I'm all ears…" Virgil's jaw dropped when his own voice was played back to him. "That's not me...! Is it?"

"It certainly is," John confirmed.

"I never said that."

"Yes you did."

"When?" Virgil challenged.

Everyone's attention switched back to John who was trying to formulate a suitable reply.

"I think you've taken a whole lot of my words and stuck them together, John." There was a dangerous look in Virgil's eye.

"If I'd done that, don't you think I would have had you saying 'Thunderbird Two' instead of 'this plane'?" John asked with dignity.

"I think it's real, Virg," Scott said. "The question is when did you say it?"

"You sound drunk," Alan said.

"I can guarantee that I didn't say that because of alcohol," Virgil asserted.

"Oh, yes…" Gordon smirked.

"Or anything else," Virgil snapped.

"I'd say you were intoxicated with love..." John teased. "Right, Fellas?"

"What? You're crazy!"

"We're not the ones declaring our affection for a hunk of flying metal."

"I didn't! I never have! I…" Virgil had the glimmer of realisation. "Wait a minute!"

"Ah, ha!" Alan crowed. "At last we're going to hear the truth."

"Have you played them any more of that recording, John?" Virgil asked.

"Nope. That's the only bit of interest."

Virgil folded his arms and glared at his older brother. "Play them what happened before."

"Nope."

"Yes, John," Gordon agreed. "Let's hear it."

"You don't need to hear it." John was on the defensive. "It's just leading up to the moment of truth. I've played you the best bit."

"I think in the interests of fairness we should hear what went on before," Scott said.

Virgil held out his hand. "Give me the player, John."

"No…" John started to say, but stopped when Virgil charged him. As he attempted to block the attack, Alan grabbed the player and tossed it to Gordon.

"What'll you give me for it, Johnny?" Gordon teased, dancing around the stool.

"Mind the leg!" Scott exclaimed.

"Give me that," John tried to grab the player out of Gordon's hands, but found his way barred, rather conveniently he thought, by Scott's injured limb.

"Sorry, Johnny." Gordon tossed the player over his shoulder to Virgil. "He wins."

"Okay," John conceded as he held up his hands in surrender. "Play it, Virgil."

Virgil rewound the recording a few seconds and pressed play.

"…_Made it! We're above the cyclone…"_

"_Virgil…"_

"_We did it, John!"_

"_Virgil…"_

"_Thunderbird Two did it!"_

"_Virgil…"_

"_We kicked Sylvia's butt…"_

"_Virgil…"_

"_Man, I LOVE this 'plane!"_

"_Virgil!" _

"_What?"_

"_I've lost contact with home."_

Virgil switched off the player.

"Rough flight," Scott commented as he lowered his leg off the stool and stood.

"Yes it was," Virgil agreed.

Scott chuckled. "'Kicked Sylvia's butt', huh? That wasn't a very gentlemanly thing to do."

Virgil managed a wry grin. "Believe me, Sylvia was no lady."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "She decked you, Scott."

"I thought she swept him off his feet!" Alan exclaimed.

Still chuckling Scott patted Virgil on the back as he hobbled past. "I'll see you guys down on the runway."

"That's why I was looking for you," Virgil called after him. "Father said to tell you that Ned's making a phone call. He'll be leaving when he's finished."

"Thanks," Scott limped out into the hall.

Virgil turned back to his other brothers. "I think this belongs to you, John." He held out the player.

John took it sheepishly. "Thanks, Virgil."

Virgil winked. "At least everyone's alive to hear it." He turned to leave. "I'd better go get my overalls."

"Virgil! Wait up! I'll come with you." Gordon scrambled after his brother.

John groaned. "Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to be in trouble now? If Gordon gives Virgil any ideas…"

Alan grinned at his brother's perceived predicament. "Yep. Tell you what. Don't bother unpacking this lot," he indicated John's bags. "And I'll take you back to Thunderbird Five in Thunderbird Three."

"It might be worth running away and risking Dad's wrath if it means avoiding one of Gordon's practical jokes," John admitted. "Then again," he shook his head and reached into his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of overalls, "if we start repairs straight after the 'plane leaves, neither of them will have time to do anything to me."

Alan's grin broadened. "I wouldn't count on it. You know Gordon."

"That's the problem, I DO know Gordon…"

In Virgil's room, John's worst fears were being realised. "You wouldn't happen to have something in your box of practical jokes labelled 'revenge against John', would you?" Virgil asked as he pulled on his overalls.

Gordon gave a diabolical smile. "I might. Why don't you paint ink on the eyepiece of his telescope?"

Virgil screwed up his face in a grimace. "It's a bit tame, isn't it?"

"It's at about your practical joking level."

"I don't know whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment."

"Take it as a compliment. Your forte is flying mammoth sized planes through 300km/hour windstorms."

Virgil preened himself in the mirror. "I must admit I'm quite proud of that."

"There you go then. Why do you want something complex anyway? He'll only blame me."

"That thought had crossed my mind."

"Huh?" Gordon exclaimed. "You want me to get the blame?" Then he grinned. "You're better at this game than I thought you were."

* * *

"How's Joe?" Jeff asked. 

Ned had been in the library when he made the videophone call. Now he joined the Tracy patriarch in the games room. "He's looking and sounding well considering what he's been through. He's dying for me to get home so I can tell him everything that happened. He can't believe that he's ridden in two Thunderbirds and he can't remember either time."

Jeff chuckled.

"I told him that he won't have to work with Sid Lowe," Ned admitted. "Unless of course the bosses decide to keep him on the Olympics show. They've assigned it to Sid."

"Assigned Sid Lowe?" Jeff queried. "I thought that was your show."

"They've offered me another one… One that they thought would be right up my alley. One that would take me right around the world to all sorts of locations, meeting all sorts of people... An investigative piece…"

"Sounds ideal."

"I turned them down."

Jeff stared at the reporter. "You turned them down? Why?"

"They wanted me to do a series on International Rescue. They thought that since I've dealt with them twice I'd put more into it. You know, look at it from a personal angle… What they didn't admit, but what I know they really want, is for me to expose who International Rescue are. I told them I wasn't prepared to do that. They begged me to reconsider, but you'll be pleased to know I stood firm."

Jeff looked at him with sympathy. "I'm sorry. It sounds like something you could do well."

Ned shrugged. "Oh, well. Something else will come along."

"Thank you for considering us…" Jeff began.

"It's not only International Rescue I was thinking of, it's all the people who may not be as lucky as Joe and I were if you're not about to help them. I don't mind losing this particular opportunity if it, at least in part, repays the debt I have to you, your sons, and everyone else."

"I think you should take that job."

Ned did a double take. "Take it? Why?"

"Because we both know that if you don't do the series then someone else will," Jeff explained. "Someone who's as good a reporter as you are. Someone who may stumble onto some fact that will lead to us. If you were the one doing the reporting and you came across that same fact, you'd recognise it and be able to negate it. I'd feel that International Rescue is in safe hands if Ned Cook were the person doing the investigating."

"Really?" Ned asked. "Are you sure?"

Jeff nodded. "I'm sure."

"I… Thank you. Thank you for trusting me."

"But please let me give you some advice," Jeff requested.

"Shoot."

"Don't even hint that you've so much as talked to any of us. We swooped in, got you and, or, Joe out of harms way, and swooped out again. That's all. Nothing was said by any member of International Rescue to you."

"If that's what you want," Ned frowned in confusion. "But why? Surely if I were to say that I spent a couple of minutes talking to one of International Rescue's operatives about the weather it wouldn't matter. After all, you rescued Joe from a cyclone."

"I wish it didn't matter, but I know there're people out there who would stop at nothing to get the slightest bit of information about us."

"But…"

"Remember the maiden flight of the Fireflash airliner?"

"Sure. That was one of your first rescues, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Jeff nodded. "So you know what happened?"

"Someone had planted a bomb in the landing gear, or something."

"Do you know why?"

Ned shook his head. "The reports weren't very clear on that point. They thought it was a band of international terrorists or something."

"Our sources tell us that it was planted deliberately so that the bomber would get the opportunity to photograph the Thunderbirds."

Ned's jaw dropped. "You mean someone would risk the lives of hundreds of people just for a few photographs."

"Yes," Jeff sounded grim. "And if someone would think nothing of doing that, think of what they'd do to you or Joe if they thought you had the merest grain of information about us."

Ned swallowed. "I'll remember that."

Grandma Tracy came bustling in. "Good," she said. "You haven't left yet. I wanted to say goodbye, but I won't come down to the runway. Not while the path's all muddy."

"Thank you for everything, Mrs Tracy," Ned said.

"Here," she held out a box, which he took. It was warm and a heavenly aroma arose from it. "It's my first apple pie out of the new oven."

"Thank you," Ned said, with real appreciation.

"Mind you don't let Scott get wind of it," she warned. "Else you won't get any."

Ned laughed. "Thanks for the warning," he said as he placed the pie carefully into a case.

Jeff smiled. "Come on, Ned," he said. "Scott's itching to take to the skies again. If we don't get down there soon he'll be leaving without you." He picked up one of Ned's bags.

"I can take that," Ned protested.

"I don't mind," Jeff replied. "Besides, the path is still slippery. You'll need one hand free." He began walking out of the room.

"Before I arrived here, I would never have dreamed that I'd have a multi-billionaire carrying my bags for me," Ned quipped as he lifted his other bag onto his shoulder.

Jeff chuckled. "I've got to. Sylvia ran off with the butler."

They walked out into the warm sunshine. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind as they began their trek down to the runway. Even from this distance Ned could hear the sound of the hover-plane's engine.

"Sounds like that replacement part's working well," Jeff teased.

"Sorry about that," Ned apologised. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He thought for a moment. "I don't want to cast aspersions on Scott's flying abilities. I mean I've seen him in Thunderbird One and I know he's a good pilot, but with that leg… Do you think him flying me home is a good idea?"

"Don't worry about it," Jeff replied. "I think it's a good idea for several reasons. One is that, as I said, if he doesn't get airborne soon he's going to drive us all crazy. Two is that he needs to rest that leg, and we won't be able to stop him from helping with the clean up if he stays here. We'll pick him up again when Thunderbird Two makes her next supply run. And three, he's the best pilot we've got."

"Better than Virgil?"

"In every plane except Thunderbird Two, yes. Don't worry. If he thought a torn knee ligament was going to impede his ability to fly safely, there's no way he'd risk either of your lives."

Despite Jeff's reassurances, Ned still felt a twinge of uncertainty. The feeling remained when they reached the runway.

"All set?" Scott asked as he stepped out of the hover-plane and hobbled over to relive his father of the bag he was carrying.

"Leave that, Scott," Jeff reprimanded. "I can carry it," he hoisted the bag into the plane.

Scott folded his arms. "I'm not helpless."

"I know that. And neither am I," Jeff reminded him. "I've just been reassuring Ned that you're fit to fly with that injury."

"This?" Scott tapped his injured leg. "A torn ligament won't cause any problems. It's all hand controls on this bird."

"Don't worry, Ned," Gordon's voice caused Ned to turn. The four remaining Tracy brothers had descended from the villa. "Unless he decides to push you out of the 'plane." He stopped as if in thought. "If I were you I'd wear a parachute for the trip."

"Gordon!" Scott protested. "I'll admit that, initially, I wasn't Ned's greatest fan…"

"And you had every right not to be," Ned interrupted. "We shouldn't have disturbed you all, not when we weren't welcome."

"But at least you got your interview," Gordon said. "Shame the reception from the research sub wasn't the best."

Ned held up the tape. "Thanks for that. At least my boss won't think I wasted my time coming here."

Alan held out another tape. "There's some more footage to keep them happy. It's some of the CCTV footage of the cyclone. There's some pretty amazing stuff on that."

"Thanks," Ned said again. "I really don't deserve all this…" He looked around. Somehow in the last 24 hours both the graffitied pod and Thunderbird Two had mysteriously disappeared. "But…"

"Yes?" Jeff asked.

"Will you answer one question?"

"Depends," Jeff replied "What is it?"

"I've been dying to know the truth since I heard the rumour. Did the 'Sentinel' shoot down Thunderbird Two? I promise won't tell anyone. Not even Joe."

His question was answered by silence.

"Okay," Ned sighed. "I got the picture. Mind my own business."

Jeff stepped forward to shake his hand. "Goodbye, Ned. Have a safe trip home and good luck with the new show. Give our best to Joe."

"I will. And thanks for not chucking me out into Sylvia's clutches." Ned mounted the steps to the plane. "So long, everyone. I hope we'll meet again… But not in a professional capacity next time."

"Well, tell Joe to stay away from water." Gordon swung the steps to the hover-plane up and locked them into position. "See ya, Ned."

Ned had one final look at the International Rescue team before Scott pulled the door shut. Then he settled into the seat beside the pilot's.

"All buckled up?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Ned waved to the people outside.

"Let's do a bit of sightseeing before we go," Scott suggested, pulling back on the joystick. The hover-plane rose up into the air.

As they climbed higher they got a clearer view of the damage done to the island. Scott gave a whistle. "It's going to take some work."

"Will you be able to repair it all?"

"Yeah. It'll take time, but we'll do it."

Ned looked back out the cabin window. The Tracys were still waving and he gave them another wave in reply. Then, as he watched, Jeff appeared to issue instructions and the group began their hike back up the trail.

Scott pulled the stick over to one side and the hover-plane turned away from the island.

Ned sat back and readied himself for the long flight home. He'd discovered a lot while he'd been on this story. It could have been the story of a lifetime…

And it was a story that would never be told.

As far as he was concerned, Thunderbirds were go.

_The end._

_Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. :-)_

_FAB _

_Purupuss _


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